Springfield, PhD: A Different Paradigm
by James Ray Edwards
Summary: AU - A different circumstance, a new life blessed by providence. Oh, delinquents, malcontents, and ancient megalomaniacs, beware! The Doctor is in the House.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:

I do not own any of the creative properties used in the creation of this work of fan fiction. On the other hand, any specific author created characters I created for this fic (despite how unoriginal they may be at times) are mine. So without further ado, let's get on with the show!

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required.

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Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 01:

20-20

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

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_**Flames...**_

**Bodies...**

_Laughter..._

Same nightmare, different day; I've been having the same thing follow me like a bad hangover spell for a better part of forever. Talk about a drag. Just once, I'd like it if the world would cut me some slack and give me a dream for a change. Is a guy asking for too much that out of the 365 days in a year he can have one night's worth of an actual good sleep?

Then again, I suppose most fellas aren't like me, even amongst the odd millions of orphans out there. Special doesn't cut it when applied to me; abnormal was closer to the truth. You'd have to be abnormal to declare yourself an existence higher than even a Demon Lord from a Dragon **** game and make war against The World as we all know it. Naturally, people thought I was crazy, until I burned down---well, more like completely destroyed---a branch of the _Novis Orbis Librarium_.

Can't say my life got boring after becoming the most wanted man in Earth's history (correction: TRUE History) with the biggest bounty to boot, which was why I got used to camping out like a hick, under the stars, in a middle of a seithr infested wilderness. Sure, I have a tent and everything locked away in a convenient Ars' "Hammer Space", but in my experience, it's best not to get too comfortable in the great outdoors. Nothing has ever been the same since the "First War of Magic", it's why a majority of humans live at the highest elevations of the world, and I've had to fight off seithr beasts and worse, the filth monsters, more times than I care to remember.

Well, all of that fun stuff happened millennia ago, and like it or not, I ended up becoming Mister Big Damned Hero, saved the world but couldn't save myself. My benefactor is probably still trying to find me, but it isn't easy work sifting through the myriad of differing worlds and circumstances, trying to find one lost dog. The process itself is a lot like sifting through a sandy beach in the hope of finding that something you lost, while the sea foam waves just keep lapping away at the shoreline, scouring all traces of a beginning or an end.

Still, I was alive, for a fact. She knew it, could feel it, like a nasty crik in her neck from sleeping without her favorite pillow, and that alone was enough to keep her determination going, until she found me. After all, I was her responsibility, and if there was one thing the Grand Duchess Rachel Alucard didn't shirk on, it was _noblesse oblige_.

Me? Shoot... I mellowed out. After a couple thousand years, watching humans go from caveman to the dawn of civilization, only to shoot themselves in the foot, and slowly bungle their way out of the dark ages towards the light once more, it tends to put all of my problems in perspective. I've met a lot of interesting characters in my journey, probably steered the course of history more than I should have, but when you're arguably one of the strongest life forms on the planet, you can't help but exercise your power.

Going from seithr to a new fuel was tough, still I got over that hump in good time, since being an "abnormal" gave me all the time in the world to get my act together. Too bad old habits die hard, so I never did make much of a good wizard, not that it matters, cause I never did like playing by the rules either. I make my own rules, just like I make my own luck nowadays.

Being a self-appointed steward of humanity, when the world doesn't need saving from itself, wanderlust takes me and I go wherever the wind obliges, which happened to be the outskirts of a sleepy, rustic hamlet in Wales on that particular day. As per my usual M.O., I camped out and could give less than a damn for the below zero freezing temperatures. I'm not one of the strongest for no reason and catching a death from the common cold wasn't going to do jack to me; that said, it didn't help I hadn't held a regular paying job in ages, so negotiating a room at a respectable establishment might have been kinda hard.

Then again, I had a lot on my mind and sleeping out under the stars tends to help me think, usually. I was considering going into hibernation again. See, the last decade or so had been pretty peaceful, after I managed to avert a potential nuclear holocaust by the humans, with a little help from a handful of mages and like-minded individuals.

I tell you, it was the worst morning ever to wake up and realize that humanity had reached the atomic age, because they woke me up by blowing up a nuclear bomb as my alarm clock, not once, but twice! Ever since then, I had been really leery about going back for a long cat nap, but now that everything seemed to be under control, I figured I was entitled to a siesta. Besides, I had a contingency plan in place that should prevent World War III, with any luck. Before going our separate ways, I made it a point to get the message across to some influential individuals that just because they live on Mars or some other dimensional plane that the business of Earth was still highly relevant to them.

After all, if Earth went to shit, while I was on vacation, I would come back a really, really pissed off "Mister I'm-Not-A-Very-Nice-Person", and people would learn once again why I had epithets. Titles like, "The Hound of Hell", "The Black Beast", and vice-versa, weren't just for show. I earned every single one of them, and the mountains of carrion flesh, consisting of the broken bodies of my enemies vouched for me in full.

If you want to live a long happy life, you don't piss off Ragna the Bloodedge; prayer won't save you, when I come a-calling, yeah.

Unfortunately, I've also earned some nasty names that I don't happen to fancy but are true to a fault. Some call me "The Calamity Trigger" because if I happen to arrive at your front doorstep, you know that's an omen that something horrible is about to happen. It might not be to you, it might be to someone else you know, or it could be a totally unrelated happening. I always think it's crazy talk, until I see the results for myself, and every time it happens, the jinx cuts a little deeper into my conscience.

When I woke up in the middle of the night, I had to tell myself it was all superstition; that there was no way I could be responsible for a town going up in smoke and flame because I happened to be sleeping nearby. For a second, I thought it was the worst of my nightmares all over again, except as I stormed through the once sleepy hamlet, there were no bodies---and no laughter. Broken homes as far as the eye could see, like a war had come through here, leaving chips of sundered stonework and masonry littering the snow ladened roads that showed signs of recent foot traffic.

A scene out of hell, but there was no blood or bodies, just hints of the terrible violence that had taken place. Busted in doors, shattered windows, caved in houses, and the local clocktower was no more than a raging inferno, yet somehow a couple hundred people had just evaporated into thin air. It didn't make any sense, and I couldn't get a read at all on who could have done this, any traces of the perpetrators long gone, to my best reckoning. A complete, perfect holocaust was the conclusion I came to accept, grudgingly.

Like I said, I mellowed out. Stuff happens, tough luck; crying over your own damn powerlessness isn't going to bring dead people back---but grieving is necessary. After all, you need to check out that baggage, before you can make sure something that horrible never makes you cry again.

Still, you bet the little kid in me shed a tear, both in sadness and joy, when I came upon a scene, amongst all that tragedy. It made me believe again in that old saying, "If you know where to look, you can always find a little bit of hope." The boy had made it pretty far out, right at the edge of town no less. Huddled down in about a half a foot of snow that just kept on piling up, I would've missed the little lucky bastard in my haste, if he hadn't made a noise.

The kid was crying, a pathetic whimper that'd make anyone with a heart uncomfortable. Of course, he was justified, considering his hometown wouldn't be much more than a memory in a few hours. So great was his grief, he didn't take notice of me, even when my shadow loomed over him. I knew it'd be rude as hell to interrupt, but I didn't want to risk him going catatonic on me, or else it'd really put a damper on my plans, namely finding out what happened here.

"Well, squirt," I drawled out, taking a stab at the local Welsh, "spaking from experience here, doesn't this just suck balls?"

Yeah, I'm multilingual, are you surprised? Well, the kid seemed to be surprised just to meet another human-ish being out here. He froze up with a violent shudder for a second, before whipping about at me, real fast, like a striking viper. Fast for a human but slow as molasses for an abnormal like me, I hardly paid any attention to the singed air left in the wake of a magick'd fire arrow slice through the space my head used to occupy.

Actually, I was quite impressed and not miffed in the slightest. The ability to use magic in one so young was rare. Children, in general, didn't really become competent magicians until they reached the beginnings of adolescence. It takes time and a lot of effort to get it right, but here I was, almost shot in the face by a wee little kid, who couldn't have been more than four or five years old.

Still, it would've been polite of him to apologize, as the laughable star-headed wand dropped through his nerveless fingers. He gaped up at me, a black fear coloring his paling complexion, the death grip he held on a piece of stone grew tighter. It looked like he was trying to protect it more than his own life.

The fear I couldn't blame him for... After all, wouldn't you crap a sack, if a tall, dark silver-haired stranger in red, carrying a ridiculous slab of metal he called a sword appeared out of nowhere and just dodged a perfect, point-blank surprise attack by wasting no more motion than cocking his head aside? I wouldn't do something so disgraceful, but I sure as hell will start reevaluating my options, while sweating bullets.

I struck a black clad finger towards the kid's face, as if I was about to scold him.

"Ho there, shut your milktooth mouth, ye little bugger, before I close it for ye," it was a jest delivered in bored tones that made him flinch anyways. "...Just do wot ye have to do, all right? Cry or wotever. When ye're ready, I promise, I'll take ye somewhere safe, and we'll figure this mess out. Deal?"

When the auburn-haired little wonder articulated my words, he saw me in a totally different light. His hoarse words came tumbling out from a small, shaken voice, "I can't... cry anymore, sirrah."

"It's not sirrah that's Master to ye," I rebuffed him gruffly, crossing my arms over my chest to convey emphasis, "which I do explicitly say so. And since ye're done, let's get on with it: are ye comin'---or are ye staying?"

"C-Coming? With who?" the boy spoke, as if hearing me for the first time, really.

I shook my head agitatedly. Terrific, it seemed he had been so out of it, he totally missed my preamble. "Wit' me, ye git. Tsk... Look, little magus."

"Magus?!" the kid interjected, his red-rimmed eyes brightening with an eager spark that I could only call hope. "Th-then you are?"

A hope I had to crush because I wasn't anything close to his naive expectations.

"I'm not a Magister Magi if that's what ye're hoping for, but I know how the Magic Society works. Anyways, listen: there's nobody to bury, ye get me? ...Not that I've seen any to wonder. Wot can I be certain of, is that all of this will be just ashes and echoes, a memory by the morning, and we needs to clear out before wotever lot did this---comes back."

"Clear...out?" the boy tasted my expression for a bit, chewing it over, before his eyes flashed in explosive outrage. "YE MEAN, RUN AWAY?!"

I shrugged, wholly unmoved by the caustic glare he sent my way, "Well, that was the idea since the beginning, ye bloody ass."

"No. no. N-NO!" he screamed shrilly at me, anger overtaking his body like pained convulsion, screwing his eyes shut. "I won't, I won't go! Th-the demons. Demons did this! I... I have to get them back. Get them all back! For my sis. For auntie and uncle. For everyone!"

"Oh, really?" I knew I shouldn't have baited him, but I needed to figure out his limits. The children of mages can be unexpectedly mature for their age, an important survival mechanism in their kind, since magical potency tends to peak rather fast. "How many _daemons _were there, huh?"

"I, I dunno! Lots. An army!"

"An army, ye say? Fan-flipping-tastic! Enjoy yeself with that, 'cos I'm leaving."

"Wot?!" he squawked, anger now forgotten to be replaced by disbelief. It spoke volumes for his naive expectations of what I could be, and how far Good Samaritans were obliged to act.

So I laid down the law to him, "I admit freely I'm strong, but even I know fighting an army of daemonkin by meself is detrimental to me health. I'm not a sucker, and I'm not an idiot either. If ye gots a brain between those brown eyes of yours, ye'll understand ye needs to go, too, boy. It's nothing short of a miracle ye're alive right now. Don't let that providence go to waste; a lot of other folk weren't so fortunate, understand?"

Suffice to say, he didn't take it too well. His sore eyes watered and his nose began to run again, as a wave of despair crashed down onto that tiny soul, and the stone chunk he held so deathly against his body tumbled from his grasp.

"B, But, sis! Sis is... I can't just...!"

Curiosity piqued, I bent down and picked it up to examine, turning it around in my hands like a pawnbroker might appraise a potential piece of merchandise. What I beheld, I thought at first, was a tasteful caricature, part of a larger sculpture likely. Alas, all I had in my hands was half of a face, to which must've been a depiction of a beautiful woman in gentle repose. As far as keepsakes went, this seemed to be rather impractical, but...

"...This your sister?" I asked him skeptically. See, I couldn't shake this odd feeling that the stonework was well, uncanny; way too uncanny, like I had a piece of the actual model in my own two hands. That can't be right. Right?

"Y, yes... She, she protected me. Th, they... The demons turned, turned everyone into stone... AND BROKE THEM TO PIECES!"

Suffice to say, it took a lot of _cajones_ to not freak out and destroy my cool, dark, and snarky image at the time. I'm an expert at bloody mayhem and destruction, but it doesn't mean I'm the kind of sick bastard who enjoys examining his handiwork after the fact.

"Petrifaction, huh?" I say in a relaxed, clinical tone that didn't belie any of my own shock, as I bent back down and handed the disturbing evidence back to the kid. Thank god for gloves, or I swore he would've seen my skin crawling from the deed done. "Well, that explains a few things. Tsk. ...I hate to be the bearer of grim tidings, but it's too late to save her, or anyone. If she was whole, we might've been able to reverse the curse given time."

The kid didn't say a word. I had expected him to throw another tantrum, but it seemed he had arrived at that conclusion a while ago himself. Still, I didn't want to give him any ideas.

"...And for the record," I added in a dark, menacing tone, "I'm **not **an Endless Sorcerer."

Sadly, the import of which went right over his head; the kid staring up at me, with innocent curiosity, "An Endless Sorcerer?"

I sighed in exasperation. Clearly, it was going to be my responsibility to fix his bad habit of selective hearing. What a punk. "The short story: nasty monsters who play with life and death, like it's a game. Ye **don't **want to meet one. ...The girly version is an Endless Witch; same deal, but cruel in only the ways girls know how to be."

The kid digested the heavy gravity of my words with an eager childish, conspiratory nod, as if he could empathize with what I was saying. Damn fool; that was another habit I would have to fix. I can already see my colleagues and I having a very eventful decade.

"Now for the last time, are ye coming with me or wot?" I leveled a stern look at him, injecting a hint of murderous intent that even a kid couldn't mistake its meaning, just to make my intentions clear. "'cos I refuse to repeat meself again. Take a long, hard look around ye, all right?"

I gestured with a sweeping wave of my hand at the hellish scene all around us, a burning desolation, crackling, spent of life that would rob a grown man of hope, as snow, tainted by the black plumes of smoke, fell like ash.

"There's **nothing **left for ye here. Understand?"

Suddenly, the boy remembered where he was, his lip quivered, and once more his face broke out in a pitiful hung dog expression of broiling agony. Stupid runt. There was another habit I'd have to fix.

"...of course, I don't expect ye to forget wot happened here, but don't let it drag down your soul. Ye're too young to give up now, make this tragedy into your strength, and I guarantee, ye'll live long enough to see the end of it through some day. Bugger me, I. AM. the definite proof that rage is a hell of a reason to keep on living. Buck up, grit your rotten milkteeth and stand up!"

Right there was the make it or break it moment, the twenty-fifth hour, you could say? At first, there was dead silence, very disappointing dead silence. To be fair, this wasn't the first time I had done something so impulsive, as take in a runt from nowhere under my wing. I always had stronger paternal instincts than what was normal for most kids my age did back at a certain orphanage, some lifetimes ago. It was why the sisters and the priest liked to depend on me.

I closed my eyes and sighed inwardly. As an abnormal, it's a big faux pas to show how pathetically human you can be over the small stuff. Mortals are temporal, short-sighted creatures, and the road to hell is always paved with good intentions. If one person can't be level with you, screw 'em, and go find someone else. "Chosen Ones" are chosen for a purpose, like swords to be drawn in the hour of battle.

Too bad, I'm a sucker for getting attached to people. It's true I'm a vampire more or less, but in practice, I'm closer to an emotional vampire, not the psychological concept, but per wrote. I would've gone insane without companions on this long as hell haul through the ages. Sure, I look and act the part of a devil may care jerk, but inside, anybody who's been with me long enough knows I'm a damn big softie.

Most abnormals lose their humanity in their rise to stardom. It's no wonder I'm so damn unpopular and never get any invitations to the parties. Then again, you'd have to be a softie and a big damn crazy to be the one guy, who always, always stands up for the stupidity of humans.

In any case, the prospect of going on a siesta was looking brighter and brighter by the second. I turned around dismissively and began to stroll away in the sheets of falling ash-colored snow, with my back ramrod straight and not a stitch of regret in my long strides. Though I admit I was cheating with magic, so I could just walk on top of the snow, since my objective was just to get myself as far away from the kid.

...but then I remembered I promise to take him somewhere safe. You bet I was hacked off, when I had to turn on dime to double back, only to get a shout out in my face.

"HEY. Wait. For me!" it was the boy, red-faced from effort, running towards me full tilt.

The burning village was skylined on the horizon. I had no idea I had even walked this far, and to think the little rascal had been chasing me the whole time, while I had my head up the clouds.

"Bloody hell," I smirked at him wryly, as he came to a stop before me. "Wot are ye up to, bugger?"

"I, _hah_, could ask ye," he spoke between shuddering gasps of breath, bent over, hands on his knees, "the same thing, ye. flipping. wanker."

"Wanker? I didn't know lads as young as ye already knew such foul language. There might be hope for ye yet."

"Oh, shut up, ye," snorted the kid, now wearing the same smirk as me, an excellent imitation if I should say so myself.

"So, wot's your name, stupid-is?"

"Negi Springfield, Master!"

"Well, do follow me closely, young Springfield, for where we go there is no hell, only darkness. Yea, though ye walk through the valley of the shadow of death, where angels and demons fear to tread, ye will fear no evil, for ye will become. The Baddest. Extraordinary. Gentleman. In the Whole. Rutting. Valley!"

That was how I met the then young and innocent Doctor N. Springfield, and if I knew of how epic he'd become one day, I would've asked for his limited edition autograph then. To quote Samuel Jackson, "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyrannies of evil men..." though I wonder, if we over did it nurturing him into the snarky knight in sour armor wearing jaded glasses described in it. Good times, my friends; good times.

Now, Negi-yarou, as soon as I'm done regenerating from having you nail me to a cliff face with my own sword, you'd better hope to god I don't catch up with you any time soon. Sure, you thought it was hilariously ironic, but the joke stopped being funny right about the time I started emptying my own guts and blood all over the ground. And, young punk, I'm effing pissed. OFF.

_~ The above is an excerpt from the pensieve of 13th Arbiter, Ragna the Bloodedge, circa 2012._

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To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required.

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Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 02:

The Doctor is in

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

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Back in time, in a different date, at a younger day that is the late year of Our Lord 2002, civilization in his opinion was always a few steps away from barbarism. It did not matter where he went, the same paradigms usually held a disturbing commonality across borders and nationalities. The times dictated the norms of a culture and folkways could fall to the side from disuse.

Post-Modernist Japan, in particular, struck out as a sore thumb to him, a society of convenience and pretense that lives fast to die faster. The mages of The Clocktower could not have fathomed his preferences, yet by some horrible roll of the dice, they had picked a trial by fire that paled in comparison to his certification exam to become a Magister Magi. Somehow, the multilingual teen genius from nowhere, with a doctorate in English and masters in Psychology, Sociology, and Communications from the highest rated institutions in England, was ordained to be sent overseas to teach in one of the few countries he happened to dislike.

At least, the elders could have thrown him to the bloody Yanks, for their oh-so-sweet revenge. It was not as if he had the intention to make a total mockery of the certification exam. Why he passed with flying colors, though in hindsight to have the gal to correct the test right in front of the proctors and hold an impromptu class in Magical Theory may have been an unforgivable _faux pas_.

Alas, what was done is done, and young Doctor N. Springfield, age fourteen, had to bear with the humiliation of being packed like a sardine into an overcapacity public transportation system. In Europe or the Northern Americas, his foreign-ness would not have stood out so badly, but in a largely uniform society as the Japanese, the darting looks he received, some guarded and some appraising, like a jeweler in a pawn shop, lost there novelty quickly. Negi felt like an animal at the zoo and could scarcely believe that these people could be so bored that staring at a young foreigner, packed evidently for an extended camping trip, could amuse them.

Normally, he would not have minded the attention because for the better part of his childhood, the boy genius had been gallivanting across time and space to the tutelage of many masters. He saved his fair share of history and was regarded as a hero in his own right, in spite of traveling in the company of almost absurd greatness, a league of extraordinary scoundrels and gentlemen. It was a journey fraught with enough danger and terror that he suffered enough sudden catastrophic losses of bladder and bowel control to last a lifetime, which was one too many. Tales of the horrors he heard lurking about back home on Earth seemed mundane, in comparison, when he had fought in the company of true heroes against nightmares that swallowed whole planets for dessert over tea time.

Though to be frank, Negi suspected that had he not "the right stuff", as per quote from one of his more Yankee mentors, since the beginning, the journey would have killed him long before he set foot at the arriving platform in Mahora Academy Central Station. The right stuff, in his opinion, implied a certain degree of courage and outright insanity. Bloody hell, he must have been mentally sick before anything began to accept The Master's offer, in the first place.

Then again, Doctor Springfield had been young, and he had to admit that children were born brain damaged, more or less. Even with his advanced faculties as a mage, it took years for him to grow out of his ignorant shell and gain a sense of self and purpose. The fact, ordinary humans did not begin the recovery process, until well into adolescence, was just plain horrific. Still, had he the wisdom he possessed now, the professor swore he would have told the insufferable man in red to bugger off and sod himself.

Best worst mistake my foot! thought Negi disagreeably, plopping himself down with a huff in a free seat at the back of an automated tram car that would ferry him the rest of the way to his final destination.

Such was his rancor, he could not appreciate the growing irony that his vehicle was stuffed exclusively with excitable adolescent girls. The various cuts of school uniforms denominated their particular school within the auspice of the Mahora Academy District, and many could not help but notice the lone moody male occupant and giggle some gossip at his expense. Not that he cared for their fickle amusement, Professor Springfield, Ph.D., of Oxford and Cambridge had much more serious concerns than a lapse in judgment exacerbated by the glands.

"Hey, watch it, bub!!" an offended shriek interjected abruptly, with a tinkle of bells, breaking the spell of introspection.

The professor blinked, the only measure of his surprise. Presumably, he had been on his way to mounting a set of stairs towards a collection of important architecture, when he had violated the fundamental human norm of personal space. At least, Negi assumed that was the probable cause of offense for the fuming redhead of junior-high age, who had accosted him.

Fancy how she didn't look remotely Japanese at all. Could she be in similar circumstances to him? However, her Japanese sounded flawless, unlike his that still bared an uncanny ancestry to British-English. Prim and proper, he thought, scrutinizing the girl swiftly, before stepping back to offer a perfunctory bow. "My apologies, Miss. Please, excuse me."

"Ex-cuse~ you?" she stared at him like he had just grown an unspeakable, mutated appendage where it did not belong. Her aggression, definitely, was not typical Japanese. "I don't think so! Just where do you think you are, huh?"

Taking her suggestion at face value, Negi clinically took in his surroundings, noting that this particular bustling campus seemed to possess an exclusive female student body, hurrying to their classes, and oh, there was a native girl next to the redhead. Long black hair, pretty, and a criminally demure manner, she wore a vapid smile that sought to defuse the tension, but honestly irritated him. Her whole manner stank of passive-aggression, not enough guts to say the violence on her mind, but happy to stall and torment another all the same in trite civility.

"Ah ha ha, Asuna-chan's right, mister," agreed "Miss Smiles" in what she must have thought a placating gesture, a kind of light cutesy laugh. "This is an all-girl's school in the deepest part of the Mahora Academy District. If you're looking for the boys or co-ed schools, you missed them several stops back."

"Is that so?" he replied conversationally, only to receive a finger leveled at his face as if it were a loaded gun by the redhead, recently identified as Asuna. How rude. The professor did not relish the inevitable prospect of having to meet her parents. In fact, he did not want to know just what they looked like!

"That's right! In short, shortie punks aren't allowed here. You got that?"

Negi took all her condescension in stride, for her material did not impress him in the slightest. Amateur work, it needed more creativity. Him? Short? Nonsense, they were roughly the same height and could practically fit each other like a glove...not that he wanted to; gods, no. In fact, he had a good five centimeters on her, if it were not for those ridiculous twintails she dolled her up in.

"Duly noted, and if that will be all, might I be excused now? I would hate to make you two late for classes."

"Wha?!" Asuna squawked, reminding him of a choking parrot.

"Oh, that's right," Smiles clapped her hands together as if thunderstruck by an epiphany. "C'mon, Asuna-chan, or else, we'll be late~!"

As if...! The boy scoffed, inwardly. He'd bet his wand that the girl wanted to play around herself. Shame, her moderating influence on the other girl, as much as he managed to deduce of their friendship, would not be sufficient to calm Mt. Asuna from blowing up.

"What's up with that!?" she shouted in not particularly dignified language, blue eyes flashing with indignation at his polite measure, utterly unmoved by her intimidation. If there was one redeeming feature about the Japanese, it had to be their language; the nuances of _keigo _(lit. polite language) never ceased to amuse him.

Now, Negi knew better than to stir up the wasp's nest any further. Clearly, he had done something awful by not pondering his own shaky mortality in the girl's inspiring presence, but it could not hurt to humble Miss Asuna some, could it? So he smiled at her in polite deference, adding his best eye smile for emphasis, as he released a hint of his previously suppressed presence. The air chilled alarmingly, with an unsettling breeze, around the auburn-haired object of his attention, for whom retreat, alas, was already too late to reconsider.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, please no!" each spoken word delivered with all the loving tenderness of death by a thousand cuts. "You need not speak with another precious breath. You will only be wasting the Earth's precious oxygen."

At first, there was surprise, "Ah."

"Might I posit that if people like yourself wish to survive, you should learn how to breathe carbon dioxide and exhale oxygen?"

Then, there was only devastation, "AAAAAhhhhhhhhh?!"

Asuna's follow up bellowing cry of denial echoed across like the crash of an elephant on the moon, that is to say only those who could care to hear the soundless scream would bother, as she lost all traces of color on her person. In fact, she was reduced to but a comical ash-grey caricature of her former glory. Even her demure companion was shaken by the aftershocks of the shear nihilism espoused by this boy her age, whom she had to admit was quite dashing, but that was beside the point.

More importantly, was her friend and roommate, all right?!

"A-Asuna-chan, are you... HWAH!" the girl yelped, as the mighty redhead abruptly lost the will to stand, a doll cut from its strings. Thankfully, she managed to catch her in a mostly upright position, but goodness, Asuna could stand to loose a kilo or two!

"K-Ko-noka-chan... That guy. That guy just...!" the wounded in the egoist's sense girl blubbered, like a child a fraction of her age to their mother. "It's like my, ex-existence was just, fun-damentally re-rejected... I feel like he just told me to go die, but-!"

Ding! Right on cue, a teary-eyed comical metaphor of Asuna in white robes, with angelic wings and a halo, rose from its moaning, _faux _catatonic owner. Konoka could scarcely believe her roommate even knew such "big" words.

"HHHH-whawhawhawha!?!

"Well, then. Good day," the professor bade them, before sauntering off with a noticeable spring in his step. It was all in a day's work for Negi, though he could not help but snort inwardly at the sight. He had only been teasing her a little. Young people these days could be so thin skinned.

"A-Asuna-chan, get a grip! D-Don't walk into the light! A, A~suna~!!"

But was it worth the effort? Absolutely.

* * *

Alas, in a small enclosed community, the only thing that travels faster than STDs, is gossip, so by the time Doctor N. Springfield made his timely appearance at the Dean's office, he was already sunk. Stepping into the posh, stately office, he already sensed something in the atmosphere was off, and it was not just the ridiculous amount of sunlight pouring in through the back windows. Most vampires would have been burnt to a grisly crisp, judging by the impressive lumen output his glasses detected, with the side effect of never even seeing their assailant.

The Dean was no more than a silhouette swallowed whole in the shadow of his ostentatious arm chair. Even the rudimentary intervention of Negi's transition lenses to reduce glare had not been enough to unmask the man, as if the orientation of the office had been chosen precisely for this very reason. It smacked of vanity, and for the elderly, he supposed they were entitled to some reminders of past glories.

"Ho ho ho, welcome, Professor Springfield," greeted the venerable man, mirth evident in his ancient rasp, but the undercurrent of ire did not escape Negi's notice. "How are you enjoying the ruckus of youth this fine morning?"

Bollocks. Well, as long as the old fart was not going to call him out, he might as well remain civil. "As much as any educator should in my vaunted position, Dean-dono. After all, if it were not the exuberance of our students, we would need to find a different calling in life."

"Hnn. Well-spoken. Your Japanese is impeccable, if unapologetically formal."

"Nonsense, sir. I simply render respect where it is due, and I do believe piety to one's elder is one of the highest tenets amongst the peoples of Japan, yes?"

"Ho ho ho, if it weren't for your sincerity, young man, I might suspect you of ridicule."

And then the dance of words as swords that passed for an interview began in earnest, Doctor N. Springfield advanced with a feint to check his wily opponent's guard.

"Oh, no, no, no. I have studied and worked under enough authorities in wisdom and sciences that cranky old men are infernally cantankerous, when scorned, and given an end to muster their gargantuan intellect towards, dangerous. Let sleeping dogs lie, they say, and I intend to live a prosperous, peaceful life devoid of bowel movement inducing terror---for the most part."

Though a frail, old man, who weathered the passage of many a decade, the Dean's intellect had far from decayed. If anything, his long vigil honed his mind to an astonishing clarity, the finest blade one as venerable as he could hope for that only disease or foul play could undo. He ignored the feint and opened his guard to allow his opponent, closer.

"Ho ho ho, I begin to understand why the good ladies and gentlemen of The Clocktower were so quick to be rid of you. You're an old, salty dog in a young man's body, and they dumped you right into my lap. How awfully kind of them, yes?"

"Well, I imagine they did not wish for me to be in conspiracy with the good Lord Magus, whom frankly would not have benefitted from a young study such as I. He does have a children's school to run."

"And am I no perverted old geezer, yes?"

Negi winced, inwardly. He was on thin ice here, the Lord Magus had not been joking that his counterpart, Mister Konoemon Konoe, was one helluva of squirrely raccoon, despite his advanced years. The inkling of disdain still pervaded his spine, so he was very much lost in a dark forest. He would rather not have the man trying to undermine his work here at Mahora Academy for the foreseeable future at every turn, the professor would be damned, if he let Konoemon twist his arm!

"Dean-dono, it was not part of my expectation to be teaching at an all-girls' school within the varied jurisdiction of your campus, much less being a teacher in the first place. I have some practical experience, but my expertise is with young adults, not hormonally brain addled children who think they know what adults are like. The fact, I do beg your pardon for my impropriety, they have tits, hips, and asses and believe that entitles them to special treatment---doesn't help."

A moment's silence passed on bated breath, but Negi knew he had made the correct attack, when the Dean spoke in a defeat, downtrodden manner. For all of his prestige, Konoemon Konoe was still a meddling lecher. Why else would he sequester himself so far away from the seat of his true power in Kyoto to come all the way out here in the political equivalent of the boonies?

"Sweet Buddha, I'm glad you're an upright young man of propriety, Springfield-sensei, but why did they have to send me such a tightass?"

Check.

"Oh, do not misunderstand; I do have an admiration for the feminine form---in the right hands, sir, but the lot here from what I've observed thus far are mewling brats and flighty girls. ...I have, yet, to see a woman."

"My, my, my, if that's the case, would you fancy if I setup a marriage interview between yourself and my grand daughter?"

"I hope you're just flipping with me, Dean-dono," said Negi, relaxing his formality some, in dry, deadpan tones. "The political fallout from a marriage between a Western mage and the heiress to a powerful Eastern Magic Association would be unpleasant, to say the least."

"Phooey," Konoemon pouted at him, with all the grace of a child denied his favorite toy. "Why do you, young rascals, nowadays have to be so willful? In my time, the youth were much more receptive to the words of their elders."

"I blame the internet. Besides, if you shouldn't bloomin' trust wankers over thirty, then you need to run for the hills when a geriatric tells you he's got an offer you can't refuse."

The old man deflated even more so, almost crushed really. "Tsk, tsk, so be it. I think our academy can place its trust in your integrity, Professor Negi Springfield of Oxford and Cambridge."

Checkma-

"But, I will ask one more test of character, if you don't mind?"

Only by superhuman effort did the incensed professor prevent himself from outrage. The Dean's honeyed tones said all that was unspoken, 'Thought I was just a perverted old fart, didn't you, boy? Not so fast now.' He still had another move left to play on the board, did he?

"Well, here I am. What will it be?" Negi asked him in polite interest.

"As much as it embarrasses me, ho ho ho, there has been a delay in some paperwork, concerning your application, and a conflict with housing. Of course, my staff is doing their best to expedite the process. I promise, we'll have you taken care of by the end of the business day, but in the meantime, might you be interested in starting early? A demonstration of your abilities?"

Oh, so the old fart was looking for an official excuse to sack him, before his probationary period even began, is it? Well, the professor would be only too happy to prove him wrong.

"I have no objections," Negi nodded confidently, donning on his formal persona once more, with a check of his glasses. "But first, can I please store away my luggage securely somewhere?"

"Certainly, certainly! Your guide should be arriving right about now."

Seriously, what could go wrong?

* * *

What could go wrong, evidently, began with a scream by a very familiar voice, belonging to an eerily familiar redhead he could not have dismissed less than half an hour ago.

"GYAAAAAAhhhhh! It, appeared! The Four-Eyed JERKTOWN BOY!" Asuna started in apoplectic shock, pointing a shaky finger in his direction, like Satan himself had just walked through the door in a pink tutu.

Gawp dammit! Why did he have to taunt Murphy's Law, so? He had just been getting along swimmingly with the vivacious, top-heavy Shizuna-sensei, the staff guidance officer, and what a woman she was too, alas way out of his league. Had he been in his twenties... Yes, he would have hit it, but the professor understood he was just trying to deny the reality of the catastrophe he walked himself into.

Negi had managed to impress her too, by detecting and defusing all the traps, with contemptuous ease, as if he were taking a pleasant stroll in the middle of a blizzard. No doubt, some rascals had laid them out from Class 2-A in anticipation of their usual teacher, who would entertain such foolishness. The professor, however, was not an older man, and he knew he had to prove himself, which he set out to do.

But Asuna... Kagurazaka Asuna-san, Student No. 8, as revealed by a quick look at the class dossier, he should have taken to earlier, instead of his fascination with the lovely Staff Guidance Officer, had punched a huge hole in his plans. Not to mention, his ego was a bit---wounded.

Naturally, Doctor N. Springfield had the bearing not to show his weakness that her proclamation had surprisingly injured him, a burning stab reaching right between his ribs. Touché, touché! It was not an every day occurrence, and when he considered them, he realized it must be because the crude construction greatly took after a certain someone he knew. In fact, it was always a quirk that peeved him greatly about The Master, for at a glance, the silver-haired abnormal seemingly did not put much thought into crafting his insults, atypical laziness.

Still, he knew exactly how to cut to the heart of the matter, and it hurt. In the present, Asuna was also doing wonders to undermine his image, and Negi had to regain the momentum before she blurted out anything else. Coming off as a callous prick would not help, defending himself by acknowledging the negative would be digging his own grave...! Goodness, how the boy genius wished someone would vouch for him.

"_Ara_, _ara_, _ara_! Asuna-chan, what an amazing thing to say to a substitute teacher in his first class," Shizuna giggled tactfully like the picture of a bohdisattva, with infinite maternal grace and love. "Takahata-sensei was right. You're quite a handful, young lady."

Why there was practically a glowing mandala around her august person, too, and Negi could not help but offer a silent prayer in thanks to the woman, as the rest of the class awoke from their stunned stupor in laughter, much to the ire of Asuna. Her spluttering protests were effectively drowned out by a human tide of nonsense and opinions.

"That's right, that's right!"

"But, y'know, he was kind of cool there, don't you think?"

"No way~! We all know Takahata-sensei falls for it on purpose, sometimes."

"Kyaa~! What a hottie. Do you think he has a girlfriend?"

"But, him? Really? Our substitute teacher?"

"Mmmm~! I think my tuition would be totally worth it, if we had more subs like him."

"I wonder where he's from? Is he a foreigner, huh, huh?"

"I bet he's really smart from a rich, successful family~!"

"Wow, did you see how quickly he defeated the traps?!"

"Yeah! He must be some kind of superhuman mutant!"

"X-Prince~!"

Goodness, can these girls talk, Negi observed in awe. He had heard stories and sat in on some junior level classes, but Class 2-A had to be the most rowdy bunch of rascals he had the pleasure of meeting in a long time. They were right up there with soccer hooligans back home in the isles, not a flattering image, and the more he thought about, the more evident it became that the Dean had really set him up for failure. The professor swore he would buy his colleague a present later, but as for the old man, he was getting black coals for Christmas.

Tsk! Well, he had a class to teach, even if it was just homeroom, and there was no time like the present to get on with it. Setting the evidence of the traps aside into a helpfully produced pail, minus the blackboard eraser, which he dutifully returned to its perch, the young professor composed himself and banged powerfully on his podium.

"Now, now, ladies!" he reached out to them in a booming voice, rather unexpected of his size, thanks an effective use of his diaphragm. "Settle down, settle down! I will be happy to entertain your meet-and-greet press conference, while I call roll, savvy?"

The thirty-one, although by a rough guesstimate he only counted thirty, female students of Class 2-A happily acquiesced to his reasonable demands, for the most part. Asuna Kagurazaka fumed in the back, and if looks could kill, Negi did not require much of an imagination to know he would be an inexplicable paste of gore and blood plastered all across the blackboard. It would have highly inconvenienced him.

"Now, good morning, class," he addressed them all at a more comfortable volume.

"Good morning, sensei~!" came the exuberant reply, again, for the most part. Never wasting an opportunity for observation, the reaction offered Negi a cross section of his constituents, whom were healthy, but may have some serious misgivings about pursuing academic excellence. It was a challenge he would have to address, if brought to task; difficult but not impossible for Doctor N. Springfield.

"Just to bring you all up on the word Shizuna-sensei passed on to me, your English teacher for the next block called in sick and your Homeroom teacher had some pressing business to attend. I am Professor Negi Springfield, Ph.D., alumni from Oxford and Cambridge, and I believe it speaks for itself why I am here on such short notice."

As he spoke, Negi noted the precipitation of energy amongst the girlish mob at the tasty morsel he had just kicked to them. They were just dying to get at him, a notion that he needed to dismiss right away.

"Before anyone gets the bright idea, verily I am well-aware my parents must have an awful naming sense. Also, I would be quite inconvenienced if you tried to eat me, which would violate any number of laws, but if you must insist, _please_, give me a head start?"

The general amusement of stifled giggles and a few guffaws was a good sign, but it did not mean they respected him just yet. At the moment, he rated barely above a super star idol singer, or otherwise, an unbelievable person.

"Fortunately for you all, I have no idea where you are in the study curriculum, so for today, we'll settle for free period and what everyone's been waiting for, yes?"

"_Haii_~!" the unanimous cry was a bit disheartening, but it was too soon to call it quits. He still had time to impress the Dean.

"Now then," Negi held up the class dossier, a sizeable black leather bound planner, "I have your class list right here, but to be fair, calling attendance in the morning is a waste of time for me. So, if you all would be a dear and introduce yourselves, I can familiarize your names to a face... Yes, I will call roll on occasion, for bonus points, but I largely mark attendance after class by memory."

His ever reliable catch phrase "bonus points" worked its magic on the class, as always, with the girls lingering on his every word. It never ceased to amaze Negi how humans seemed to be condition from birth to follow a carrot on a stick.

"I happen to be a fan of class participation, and if you want to be treated like adults, **ladies**, I suggest you conduct yourself responsibly like so. Make yourself heard because if you do not, you might as well not be here. There are thirty-one students in this class, and I want you all to kick that fear of being wrong to the curb, you hear? I cannot teach anything to people who are afraid to make a mistake, cannot acknowledge their mistakes, and if that is what we have to overcome first, then I will overcome it with you. Know; it is the way of the Greek aphorism, '_know thyself and thou shall know all the mysteries of the gods and of the universe_.'"

With such sweeping words, homeroom officially ended by the tolling of the bells. Negi, immediately, cursed his bad timing, but was pleasantly surprised instead, to be showered with a standing ovation. Some had even broken out in a dramatic case of sniffles, while others in a decidedly UN-Japanese moved had stepped up to enthusiastically shake his hands. It was such a barrage of noise and emotion that he could barely comprehend the frenetic energy that had swept him away in its thrall.

"_Uuuu_, sen~sei!"

"Negi-sensei!"

"You really mean it? You really mean it, right?!"

"I can't believe there's still hope for a dunce like me~!"

"Springfield-sensei, not only is he smart and good looking, he's so nice too, _uuu_~!"

"I'll believe it. He's really an English Gentleman!"

"Aww~, I wish he was taking over from Takahata-sensei."

To be frank, Asuna was right about him, partially. Doctor N. Springfield, age fourteen, was indeed a jerk, but there was a lot more to it than that reality. For starters, he had charisma, a talent his myriad of teachers had labored tirelessly to produce its full fruition, and was not afraid to use it. His speech had been artfully tailored to win the hearts and minds of the Class 2-A, and cement his image, as the heartthrob teacher, who was as magnanimous as he was wise. Anyone else attempting the same feat on such short notice would have likely fallen flat on his or her face, if he should say so himself.

The overwhelming majority of the girls were now practically eating out of his hand. A small minority were evidently on the fence, judging by their polite deference, but Negi was confident he could get them to come around to the music, eventually. The problem was one Asuna Kagurazaka. Goodness, did she look ready to murder him, even with her friend, Konoka, present at her side to console her outrage, steam hissing almost comically off her bright red face.

Of course, the good professor knew better than to tempt Murphy again and allowed the annoyance to pass for now, instead he turned a glance to catch the bounciful Shizuna-sensei. He might not have a chance in hell with the woman, but judging by her pleased smile, once she caught his meaning, and an approving nod for bonus points, it seemed he was well on his way to true stardom and a possible tenure. Hah, Negi could not wait to see the look on the Dean's gnarled face!

The Doctor is in, baby.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Now, the trial begins. R&R feeds my motivation, so by all means do leave something in the penny jar for your thoughts. On the subject of readability really quick, I admit I do demand more from my readers than perhaps normal, since I am not fond of using dialogue tags frequently, e.g. "[Blah]," said X, "[Blah]," said Y, and so on, especially in lengthy conversations where there's only two people speaking. Of course, if things get complicated with multiple speakers, then definitely, I'll add more identifying tags.

Yes, I know, controversial, but I like to believe I make enough of a conscious effort to immerse the reader that if y'all relax and submerge yourselves into the story, the flow of events and interaction generally makes sense. If not, oh well, writing is a constant work in progress, and something of a love-hate relationship between the writer and reader. I'll get it right one of these days. …though I admit the first episode being in First Person narration may have aggravated this issue.

Oh, and to the folks who reviewed last time, hats off to you. And for the record, this fic is inspired by Midnight Finalage Throw's Young Negi: An Applied Approach. Without him, I would never think that writing a hard boiled, snarky Negima! fic be possible, or worth my time. If you haven't read it, do so now.

Though a word of warning, his early chapters are raw as hell and would have anyone with an understanding of professional / technical writing wanting to dropkick him in the head. It would certainly never pass for an official manuscript with all his notes scribbled right into the narrative of the chapters; still, the content is fascinating stuff. Sure, I don't approve of all his story choices, but as of chapter 22, I still find it a very satisfying read.

That's all I got, and I hope I can refrain from blogging like this in the future, yeah.

Peace.


	3. Chapter 3

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 03:

Doctor S. and The Man

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

In spite of his rousing success with Class 2-A, and managing to stay out of trouble for the rest of a relaxingly ordinary school day, the Dean still managed to rain on his parade. Doctor N. Springfield should have anticipated such a turnabout, but the relative ordinariness of the classes that followed 2-A had lulled him into a mistaken impression of triumph. And why not? He had bested the worst that squirrely raccoon had to offer, but ah, he had forgotten one small, tiny detail.

Konoemon Konoe's office was his private sanctum and fortress, so when Negi reported there at the end of the business day, namely the hours of dusk, he got a face full of blazing sunlight in his face, **again**. Ohhh, feel the burn!

Okay, it is official, the young professor scowled inwardly at the indistinct shadow in the grand armchair. I approve of his style, but bloody hell do I _loathe _this old fart. I do not want to imagine even, what manner of union was required to spawn such a tenacious bugger!

Should he ever have the opportunity to be granted an office of his own in an official capacity, Negi swore he would outdo the inner sanctum of every other well-played politico boss out there. Obsidian granite would be a must-have coupled with a showpiece of either the Tree of Sephiroth or some other icon, which he could foreseeably link to or disguise as a magic circle. Oh, and he must not forget a proverbial pit of doom where the boy genius could dispose of incompetents and broken office equipment by employing his then trademarked, Springfield's Uncanny DOOM KICK!! (TM). On casual Fridays, employees of the month may be allowed to partake in the refreshing ritual as well, but he was still debating the particulars of that privilege.

It will be a glorious day, indeed. In the meantime, Doctor N. Springfield would just have to settle for more humble victories.

"Ah, so good to see you, Springfield-sensei!" greeted Konoemon bemused rasp, accompanied by a turning rustle of pages. Could the man actually be doing God-to-honest paperwork that he could not pawn off to some lesser underling? Ha, take that, you old fogey; it's divine punishment in the works, yeah! "Nice suit, by the way. Did you have that under your duster the whole trip over from London Heathrow Airport?"

"Proper planning, Dean-dono," Negi politely answered his entreaty for conversation. He might not like the Dean but appearances were still important in the proper operation of an organization. "Proper planning, though I must confess, I regret I will outgrow this fine ensemble within a year or so."

"Ho ho ho, the springtime of youth! Great for boys and girls of all ages, but a financial and emotional nightmare for their parents."

"As the Yanks say, sir, '_you break it_; _you bought it_.'"

Though he was shrouded in shadow, the professor felt a nuzzle of warmth bloom on his shoulder, as if Konoemon had risen from his chair to bequeath a true measure of his favor. Negi supposed it could have been a delusion on his part that for an instant he felt he shared an unspoken connection with the old hand, like children grinning over a joke only they were privy too. Then again, who was to say that adversaries could not share a mutual respect for one another?

"Americans, ho ho ho!" Konoeman chuckled, after what seemed like an eternity. "Sometimes they really know what to say, don't they?"

Negi nodded his genial agreement. Privately, however, the suspense was killing him. It was true he had plenty of good testimony to back his case by now, but the Dean could foreseeable shatter his hopes of becoming a Magister Magi for some petty slight that had not been so insignificant after all. In particular, the young professor was very much concerned with his playful incident from the morning; Asuna Kagurazaka alone had nearly sunk him, if it were not for the better half of his charisma and people skills.

"But enough beating around the bush," Konoemon exhaled with an air dignity that befits his venerable person for the first time, a dragon waking from its hallowed lair, "did you have an eventful day, Springfield-sensei?"

Doctor N. Springfield turned the words over and under, and around, many a time, sifting for lures, some angle that would lead to his untimely demise. To his worry, he could find none, and it made him tread lightly.

"Every day is an adventure, Dean-dono, which is true even in a peaceable setting like a school. You never know what encounter lies around the corner. I, for one, was surprised by Class Two-A."

"Oh yes, Two-A, those rascals; rather a rowdy bunch, aren't they? I have one of my best assigned to them, originally. Takahata-sensei. Hrmm, did you get to meet him?"

"I am afraid not. Shizuna-sensei, though, did speak highly of my, if you will forgive me for saying this, predecessor."

"Ho ho ho, it's no more than the inevitable, sensei. I, too, have read her glowing reports, a Renaissance Man, yes?"

If it were not for the sun's dastardly intervention, he swore he would have seen the old man raise crinkle a wry brow at him. Perhaps, Doctor N. Springfield had to admit, his polite, academic overtures towards the woman had been overdone? Well, too late to regret the past now, he would have to just be more careful with his admiration in the future.

"My professional training lies in the Liberal Arts, Dean-dono," Negi made a show of propping up his glasses, a motion that usually helped to soothe his nerves. "It was wholly unexpected to find a fellow bibliophile so near."

"Ho ho ho, not only a gentleman, but a man blessed by Lady Luck, too?" the Dean chuckled, seemingly enjoying this spar. Finding out what made the young Englishman tick, so to speak, was turning out to be a surprisingly entertaining diversion, even though the result of the battle was already forgone. "Goodness. Are you certain you're not a superhuman mutant, some X-Prince?"

"You do me too much credit, sir," Negi offered the elderly man a ghost of a smile. Privately, he was astounded by Konoemon's ability to gather information so swiftly; Mahora Academy, in the truest sense, was the old mage's kingdom. When he received his housing, the professor made it a point to make sure to check, discreetly, for treacherous surveillance equipment. "I am but a mage trying to become an upstanding, yet balefully ordinary contributor to the betterment of society."

"Ho, in that case: what say you, Cocolova-san? Can Springfield-kun be trusted not to make an embarrassing international incident for The Clocktower?"

A wet bubbling noise was all the warning Doctor N. Springfield received, before a figure, a girl, literally condensed out of thin air to his right by the far wall, against a tall cabinet with various accolades on display. Topped with a comically bent over witch's hat, her long garment's glistened with a film of precipitation that one might expect from a trip in the middle of heavy rain. However, the girl herself was untouched by a drop of moisture, dry as freshly laundered clothes.

It was the darndest thing he had seen in a long while, and only his overriding academic wonder stifled the primal instinct to draw his second-hand wand from within his suit jacket's pockets. Negi's piqued mind entertained the myriad of possibilities: what manner of spell was this? Elementally linked to water? Had she teleported here, or had she been there all along? Was it worth the effort of haranguing and sweet-talking to add it to his own magical compendium? And why had his glasses failed to pick up her presence, if she had been in the room since the beginning?

He was rather proud of his glasses, really. Augmented reality glasses, decades ahead of anything conventional science could yet produce, and a concept that was scoffed at by an overwhelming majority of magic society. Understandably, he had not switched his "Auto Senses" to active scanning, but to escape detection even on its passive-active setting was a remarkable feat.

Speaking of which, just who was this Cocolova? Oh dear, it appeared they had a conversation while he was thinking absently, better remind Konoemon and the girl he was still here.

"Excuse me, but could you go over that again?" Negi spoke up sheepishly, a rather shocking break from his impeccable demeanor. "My apologies, sir and miss, I was a bit...surprised."

The unusual moment of vulnerability soothed the combined ire of the affected parties quite well. In fact, the young girl, who might have been someone's cute little sister, suddenly sported a decidedly contemptuous smile that erased all illusions of cute or little. Doctor N. Springfield, of course, by virtue of his many primordially terrifying experiences broke with the norm, and thought she was still cute and little, reminding him fondly of a poisonous pink polka dot chihuahua that drools mildly caustic venom.

Aww, isn't she so cute? he pondered wistfully.

"Ahem!" Konoemon cleared his throat, as he resolved to do what was necessary, again. To be honest, one of his pet peeves throughout his long life was always having to repeat himself, probably why he always got stuck in leadership roles. Class Representative, Student Council Representative, Student Council Representative, and so on... Goodness, do the eight million gods have the most ironic sense of humor. "As I was saying, this young lady here, is Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova."

So young and a Magistra Magi already? Negi raised an inward eyebrow at the fact that stood before him. Technically, he was the out of fashion dinosaur in the room, but after all the experiences he had been through, the young professor had a healthy concern for the wizarding world's rather callous treatment of children.

"At least for the probationary evaluation period of your stay here in Mahora Academy," the Dean went on, turning another rustling page, "from the present 'til March of next year, Cocolova-san will serve as a foreign observer, reporting directly to The Clocktower in Britain of your progress."

If her station was not enough to make Negi uncomfortable, her mission had all the pleasantness of a persistent, itchy blister right on the arse. "That is...rather unheard of, do you not think so, Dean-dono?"

Never mind Miss Cocolova's name did not sound English in the slightest bit. In fact, the professor had the sinking suspicion that she was a Russian or a slav, and those Motherland-bothering types usually work for Eastern Orthodox Doctrine aligned groups, like the Church of Annihilatus. The girl was bad news anyway he looked at it, but seriously, how cliché could those old fogeys, get? Wot was he MI6 to her KGB? They had been watching too many Bond films, even if Sir Sean Connery is damn bloomin' dashing.

"It appears you've made some powerful admirers, Mister Springfield," Anastasia added her considerable weight to the conversation at last, with all the relish of a cat that had her milk and the favorite canary too. Alas, the noticeable accent clinging to her girlish voice, made funnier by trying to speak in Japanese, confirmed his fears. He had a Ruskie from Mother Russia on his case.

More like powerful enemies, Negi gagged on the metaphorical ripe old lemon, whole, though his expression remained politely interested as ever. I think was much too flashy and flamboyant at the certification exam, after all.

"And as **I** was saying, Konoe-sama," the Agent of The Clocktower continued, shooting him a curt glance, "I didn't once observe, Goodman Negi Springfield, make any use of unauthorized sorcery in public. For an unknown commoner from nowhere, he displayed remarkable infiltration and coping skill amongst the mu---student population."

"Ho there, **ye** lil' trollop," Negi interjected coldly in English, all traces of his former propriety gone right out the door, as he folded his arms crossly over his chest. "Ye were about to call me lasses---_**mudbloods**_, weren't ye?"

The slip of the tongue had been so slight that anyone else would have thought Anastasia had been in the middle of taking a breath, instead of dropping a despicable racial slur. Even Konoemon Konoe in the protection of his anonymous shadow gave a taken aback gasp at the sudden accusation, and the very ascetic air that ballooning like an open flame around the boy professor's shoulders. With one careless word, he had transformed into the spitting image of a professional vagrant, who looked ready to get down to business in a heartbeat.

It appeared certain issues were hot buttons for Professor Negi Springfield, a fact likely not lost on Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova, even though she teetered on the precipice of disaster. Derision of "The Pariah" was fashionable in certain echelons of magic society, while politely overlooked by the more mundane, chocked up as the eccentricity of the rich, powerful, and noble. Making the luckless humans a scapegoat for the opportunistic frustrations and lamentation of mages beat the alternative of preying upon the dying mage lines, or unfortunate couples that produced---unsorcerers.

Social injustice, of course, was the furthest hot button topic for Anastasia. She had her own demons to contend with, and if Springfield wanted to pick a fight over her conforming to the norm, well, he could genuflect and kiss her feet, first that bleeding heart. The magistra magi sniffed brusquely, hands akimbo upon her hips, standing her ground.

"I beg your pardon, goodman?"

"I said-!" Negi raised his voice loudly, as if a brawler wading into the fray, letting loose a flurry of casual punches and kicks at any who dare venture too close for comfort.

Oh, he was hacked off, knew it for a fact in his boiling blood, but all the boy genius could see was red. The girl's total lack of shame at such unsightly behavior that had not been made with the slightest hint of a jest was---unforgiveable! Did the little debutante have even the faintest clue how many good people had suffered and died fighting the hammer and yoke of blind hate?

Suffice to say, between Negi's raging indignation and Anastasia's unrepentant impertinence, something awful likely would have happened had the Dean not come to his senses and exerted his own brand of authority: an internal office intercom.

"BE SILENT!" Konoemon modulated, shocking the two youngsters with his brevity.

It reminded Doctor N. Springfield of having a whole bucket for freezing ice water dumped on him, refreshing and grossly uncomfortable. The chill shoved a spike of clarity the size of Mount Everest through his skull, smothering the violent, righteous anger beneath inexplicable tons of earth and rock. He, understandably, felt very foolish indeed to have behaved no better than that fiery Asuna, blowing his cool at such a critical meeting over a minuscule trifle that he could have settled another time without losing face.

"A, Apologies, sir. I forgot my place," those words the young professor expressed sincerely, with no duplicity. Alas, it might already be too late for the poor old raccoon to tell the difference.

"As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm for coming to the defense of our students, now was neither the time or the place. You are your own person, but I expect you to have the maturity to exercise tact, whether it be amongst your colleagues or your students, Springfield-sensei. This isn't the wizarding world, and even there, we have proper laws and customs to abide by."

The magistra magi, on the other hand, was happy neither to acknowledge or deny her part in the fiasco, a slight that Konoemon definitely did not fail to notice.

"As for _you_, Cocolova-san, don't believe for a second that my lecture applies exclusively to the candidate either, while you're here, I expect you also to accommodate to acceptable norms and mores, ergo keep your prejudices to yourself, thank you very much."

She offered the old magus a respectful bow, but not too low nor too high. It seemed Anastasia was absolutely determined to be above any transgression that transpired, and take credit for selective parts of the coming campaign that only made her look good. At least, the professor managed to deduce as much from her mannerisms. She was a survivor that one, dangerous, and he had already made a mistake by giving away a weakness to her.

Still, it was not as if he was that far behind in the game. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, they say, and Doctor N. Springfield would enjoy tormenting her with setbacks at any opportunity that presented itself. Oh, yes, he would, because he never fancied opportunistic career jockeys. In fact, should they live long enough to become respectful adversaries, he would have to thank her some day for all the good times they enjoyed together. Heh he he he he!

"Now, before that bit of unpleasantness overtook us," the Dean set aside the microphone back into its drawer. "I was about to inform you, Springfield-sensei, that out of necessity, but in the best interests of operational security, Cocolova-san will also be rooming with you at your apartment in the faculty housing."

Back in proper form now, Negi could barely restrain the urge to roll his eyes skyward at the evolving twists in his plight. Ironically, no longer did he need to run a search for bugs, because the angel-faced Judas was already within the hallowed walls of his sanctuary. ...But just how were they going to explain a fourteen-year-old boy genius living under the same room of an even younger miss priss?

"Also," the Dean added as an after thought, "a cover story for the both of you has already been agreed upon and filtered down to those who need to know."

"For your information, I'm your new darling, baby cousin," Anastasia informed him with a derisive huff. What were the chances they had compatible hair color and eye color from the get go to make the story credible, huh?

Unknown to her, the professor himself had similar reservations. Boy, how awfully atypical. I would hope the drapes match the carpeting in her case, which is more than I can say for most of the natives around here. Purple, green, blue, and pink---in ordinary HUMANS?! Some thing had to have gone dreadfully wrong at the evolutionary level to produce those coloration. At least we weren't brother and sister... Wait a minute, wouldn't the MEME, WINCEST is the BEST, still apply to cousins?!

"First cousins or fourth?" Negi said in all seriousness.

"...and why does it matter?" Anastasia asked him skeptically, clearly clueless of the coming ramifications.

Some people these days could be so~ awfully sheltered, can't they? he thought with a mental face palm. "When it concerns a student body that is largely fully of gossiping, hyper sexualized junior-high girls... YES. I **do **think it is a matter of serious concern."

"Erm," innocence freshly tainted, according to the flustered red coloring her cheeks, Anastasia had a new appreciation clearly for the direness of their plight. "That's..."

"Oh ho ho ho," Konoemon interrupted with a bemused chuckle, content that a more agreeable atmosphere was settling in his office once more. Shame he was about to ruin it by making a possibly unreasonable request. "Sounds like you two young people have quite a number of details to work out this evening...though, one more matter, Springfield-sensei."

"Dean-dono, forgive my impropriety, but at this point, I think I am resigned to whatever spectacular hoop jumping act The Man has in store for me," Negi smiled wryly, a rare expression from myriad of masks that remarkably felt natural to him regardless of the circumstances. Of course, he preferred to refrain from using it for niceties sake.

Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova was not a particularly skilled disassembler yet, thankfully, but for some infernal reason, some part of her honed intellect told her that smile suited her target perfectly. In fact, she really should be worried when he smiles like that, since butterflies spontaneously sprouting in her stomach and an accelerated heart rate, could not be healthy signs, yes?

"As you are no doubt aware," Konoemon sighed heavily, "the duties of your profession can be quite broad and extensive, or narrow and specific. Here, at Mahora Academy in particular, I entrust all teachers to look after the health, welfare, morale, and discipline of the students in their care. Naturally, I take the Honor Code very seriously and would do all in my power to prosecute the honorless scum, who'd make light of the weight of the lives in their hands."

Good to hear, he was not a totally debased meddling lecher, thought Negi in appreciation, but where the Dean going with this talk?

"But, Springfield-sensei, I must ask one selfish request of you."

Doctor N. Springfield nodded, not trusting his lips to betray his apprehension. See, his palms were itchy, as if suffering from electric burns, and through many a trial and experience, such symptoms always seemed to be a prelude to bowel movement inducing terror. Negi was no superstitious bumpkin, although he sometimes wished he was...

"I want you to pay special attention to protecting my granddaughter. You have met, Konoka-chan, yes?"

Goodness, it was all just as planned, huh? the young professor paled inwardly. Oh yes, everything was starting to make perfect sense. "Indeed, I have, sir. Her taste in friends is questionable, but I suppose Kagurazaka Asuna-san is a good girl at heart, if more than little rough around the edges."

"Is she a mage?" Anastasia joined in, her analytical interest piqued. The information must have been new to her, too, for her to begin such a line of questioning. "I'd assume so, yes, being your granddaughter, and thus, the future heiress to the Kyoto Magic Association?"

"There are... Extenuating. Circumstances..." the old man replied with some difficulty. "Dear Konoka-chan has no idea of her heritage, and I intend to keep it that way, until such a time where it is pertinent to reveal our true selves."

Goodness gracious, then earlier today, the old raccoon had really been offering him a chance to meet and woe a modern day princess?! Negi whistled but not for the reasons the others in the office could hazard a guess.

Oh no, he was thanking his stars that he had managed to weasel his way out of that trip of misery. Knightly quests were totally overrated; advice he had heard and experienced too many times to count through the travails of his masters. Alas, they were all softie idiots who could not heed their own advice, ultimately. Save the world, and the girl, too, or some to that effect was the death sentence they would end up having to beat.

But, wait! It was never good thing, too, if the concerned party was trying to hide the identity of the princess. Gawp dammit! What was this? Catch-22? Condemned if he accepts, and condemned if he refuses to take on the assignment?

"Of course, you're not alone in this," Konoemon added, with an almost embarrassed chuckle. "An element of her security detail is operating already on this campus, a dear childhood playmate of my granddaughter, Sakurazaki Setsuna-kun (also in the same class). The child has been keeping, as they say in the business, a low profile, so that Konoka-chan may enjoy a life as ordinary as possible. Though a stern, taciturn, stubborn yojimbo-_ko_, and something of a fan to the old ways of Bushido, I'm confident you won't have any difficulties securing her cooperation in the effort, will you now, Springfield-sensei?"

Awesome. Just. AWESOME. The Clocktower must really have it out bad for him, Negi groaned inwardly. Like, no pressure, huh?

Anastasia digested the brief thoughtfully, "Then, out of the best interest of international relations, Konoe-sama, you have my word that none of what goes on here will leave this room, and I won't report on the particulars of this extracurricular assignment. After all, it falls outside the parameters of my orders from The Clocktower."

"Ahh, such a thoughtful girl you are, Cocolova-san!" it was exactly what the Dean wanted to hear. True, his granddaughter was not the best kept secret around, much like a nuclear deterrent. Still, it was more convenient for him if these youngsters did not think too deeply about the import of what he asked of them.

Doctor N. Springfield, on the other hand, was already counting the days to the end of his probationary period. Oh gods no, lil' An~ya~ is an aspiring Shadow Broker, too, is she? Can this situation get any bloody worse? Agh, I'm handing in my request for separation as soon as I finish my evaluation and kissing this rutting post good riddance. I wanted a mostly peaceful professional career, gawp dammit, not more trouble than wot it was worth.

Then again, the professor supposed resolving any incident that should occur would look good on his resume, when he would eventually plead his case to become a full partner of _The Society_.

"I think it goes without saying, I look forward to a few glowing letters of recommendation in the future, Dean-dono. Now, if you would excuse us, I have a big day tomorrow to prepare for."

"Ho ho ho, why of course," the old man positively gushed at him. "Do enjoy yourselves, but don't stay up too~ late."

Hah. Yeah, right.

* * *

The Western-style faculty housing complex was actually quite nice. He had not realized it at first, but the whole institution was, in fact, comparable to an ivy league school, except most ivy league schools were just the university level. Mahora had every level of education covered, and the "no expense spared" attitude demonstrated here in his new fully furnished apartment showed just how much money the school board of trustees was making off Mahora Academy. He counted three bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a dining area, a foyer with walk-in closet, and an open air balcony with a retractable awning.

The only point of regret was the fact there was only one communal bathroom, an evidently Japanese concession, where households commonly took turns taking baths. As a result, there was also a separate powder room, for the Japanese thought it barbaric to relieve oneself where one also bathed. True, it was more convenient if all the necessary facilities were in the same location, but Negi had to admit there was a sound logic to the madness.

Last but not least, a mass laundry room was situated downstairs on the ground floor along with a more traditional public bathing facility. There were no curfews to speak of, although the landlady, a fastidious, maternal woman in her twenties, was quite adamant about maintaining proper appearances. Ergo, "Don't show up drunk as a skunk on Monday morning, passed out at the front door, when you have your lecture to give in just fifteen minutes." If he had any complaints or work orders, then he need only follow the proper procedures to see them addressed.

"The cafeteria on campus is closed now, but a bunch of eateries should still be open for business, not to mention those awful convenience stores. If you want your paycheck to last though, Springfield-kun," she surprisingly pronounced his surname correctly, "I strongly recommend taking the tram to stock up at the supermarkets in the district, when you have the chance."

The woman must have had quite a bit of experience dealing with foreigners, though he had to admit the fact she was easy on the eyes probably helped secure her employment as a hostess. ...Not that was a bad thing. Her atypical brown hair and blue eyes was a refreshing shot of sanity, after all the colors he saw today, although the latter expressed alleles was quite rare. Her parents must have some Caucasian ancestry in them, which would account for her unusual beauty too, another irony of Japanese aesthetics...

"And if that is all, please, enjoy your stay here," Miss Faculty Landlady addressed him, before a wry parting smile. "Just don't neglect your little sister, okay, O~nii-san?"

Him? A big brother? Hah. That would be the day. Honestly, he was more worried that the Magistra Magi would do something foolish to get him into hot water than himself. Thank the stars for small miracles because the little redhead Ruskie had a change of clothes that was agreeably conventional.

"Onee-chan, you got it wrong," Anastasia surprised the woman by speaking up for the first time in a childish manner that befit her age. The exchange, thus far, had been exclusively between the professor and her, so naturally the Landlady had not expected anything from the reserved child. "Negi-nii's the one being taken care of. Without me, he'd be a total slob."

Trying to wear the pants in this uneasy relationship already was she? thought Negi with an internal feral grin. Girl, as the Japanese say, you are a hundred years too soon to be playing games with me. Let me show you how a pro does it.

"Oooh~, big words coming from you there, Miss Dependable Bedwetter. If memory serves me correctly, I had to-D'OW!"

The little red-faced ankle biter's kick said it all, as she chucked off her black Mary Janes and stormed back into the relative safety of the living room, fuming. He had let his guard down a little bit and suffered a flesh wound, but still, the look on her face was so worth it!

"Well, my, my, what a lively bunch you two are," chuckled the Faculty Landlady, bemused by their little skirmish, which coincidentally had helped legitimize their cover story.

"Sorry about that, Hibiya-san," he smiled sheepishly at her, while favoring a wince. "It still shocks me to know that had a flesh and blood relative out there, to be honest. She is my cousin, you see, and through some unusual circumstances came into my care."

Knowing how to read between the lines was something of a requirement in Japanese society, and suffice to say, the landlady got the hint real fast. "Oh my, I shouldn't keep her waiting for you then. Good evening, _sensei_."

"Likewise, Hibiya-san," he returned her bow and allowed the woman to let herself out, before he locked the door himself.

Once the professor was certain of her receding footsteps did he make his presence known in the living room where his flatmate was presently sulking in a mad rage on one of the couches. Thankfully, she had enough sense to leave his large, bulging backpack alone, or he would have been as cross with her as she was with him.

"I think now is a wonderful time for our heart to heart talk, Cocolova," Negi addressed her almost foppishly in his preferred British-English. "Alas, the larder is empty, and I can offer no hospitality save for my humble company."

The magistra magi shot him an unflattering dirty look and responded in kind, "What? Come to gloat already, Springfield?"

"Why wotever could you mean, darling cousin? I was simply affirming that in our blossoming relationship I, obviously, wear the britches."

"This isn't over-"

"Oh! But it **is**, Cocolova," Negi closed the matter as if it were the most profound thing in the world. "See here, I have learned from the best, and I fear I have no taste for entertaining your childish games. If you try to burn me, _magus_, I will burn you and bring down the whole rutting house of cards down on top of you, as an after thought."

Anastasia frowned at the implications and shredded them to pieces just as quickly as they had been delivered. The upstart would get what was coming to him, if he thought he could intimidate her. She was the mouse who had undone the best laid plans of some unsavory individuals that the magical world could do without. The skeptics called it beginner's luck for she was still new blood at the agency, but her immediate superiors saw her feat for what it was and recognized her talent. Springfield would be no different from her previous targets should he prove himself to be more of a threat than a necessary evil.

"Nevertheless," the object of her ire sighed, exchanging his severity for a resigned exasperation, so casually that he might have been mistaken for changing his suit jack for another, "in the interest of civility, let us lay down some ground rules, shall we? Off the top of my head alone, I can name quite a few already: no spy games in my bedroom. No spy games in my laundry. No spy games in my personal affects, period. I do not mind you _stalking _me, particularly, because that is your job."

The magistra magi scoffed, refusing to rise to his bait.

"Oh, and no spy games when I'm taking a bath...unless you want me to return the favor, with interest."

He could do better than---WHAT?!

Alas, the irascible Doctor N. Springfield did not miss her sudden start, transforming into a guilty blush of embarrassment. He smiled that Cheshire cat's smile, and Anastasia seethed!

"B-Bah! I have nothing to be ashamed of about my body!!"

"Wow, I do say, that is a surprisingly adult thing to say..." Negi remarked thoughtfully, with an open-eyed expression.

Ha, serves him right for thinking so little of her! That said, sensing a turning point in the night to save face, young Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova hastily threw herself into the breach once more, for all she was worth.

"Of course! I'll be twelve-years-old next Spring; that's already the minimum legal age of an adult in the magical world!"

"_Hmmm_, my private Doctor Freud wonders... Are you sure you're not a closet exhibitionist, perhaps?"

Ah.

"Th, THIS. This conversation is over!"

The long war had just begun, and Doctor N. Springfield was already all too happy to enjoy what was to come. The Clocktower had sent him a most excellent _playmate _(**read: play thing**). If there was one guilty pleasure he possessed that he could be certain of, Negi could not resist teasing cute~ people!

"Ah, I think I might like the little trollop just a bit. She reminds me so much of that poisonous pink polka dot chihuahua. Ooohh! ..._Sniff_. I really~ **loved **that rotten dog."

Oh, heavens. Poor Miss Cocolova.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

"Magical World" and "Wizarding World" can be used interchangeably. Usage depends largely on the speaker's upbringing.

The Clocktower is the most powerful magic association in protestant England, with strong ties to the British Parliament. They have sworn allegiance to the Church of England and Her Majesty the Queen, though being a largely secular organization, the latter associations are more out of political goodwill than any intention to act on their behalf. Thus, in reality, the Church and the Royal house maintains their own private cabals of mages, who are brought up in very different environment to say the least. Thankfully, the factions can agree to set aside their difference when combating a common foe, namely the plots and intrigues of The Vatican.

Catch-22, see: Catch-22 by Joseph Heller.

Many thanks for tuning in this far. I might not have time to compose a reply to all reviews, but I do read 'em. You never know when something you said made a difference, so keep on pouring in the mail.

Laters.


	4. Chapter 4

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 04:

Changing of The Guard

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

Doctor N. Springfield wondered if he would ever be able to go a day here at Mahora Academy without someone screaming at him. Due to the urgency of his professional duties, he still did not have adequate time to get his affairs in order, e.g. unpacking, and had spent the remainder of the evening prior playing catch-up on his laptop. Mercifully, his predecessor, one Takamichi Takahata, had been kind of enough to share his lesson plan and print outs, so that Negi's coming classes would have some material to absorb while he scrambled to ready his own genius.

The tall, bespectacled gentleman took his reassignment surprisingly well, in spite of the short notice, offering his best wishes at the brief "welcome aboard" meeting in the staff room. It was not as if he was being fired, so Negi imagined he could make some peace with himself and accept the transition, for what it was: way out of his hands. The same could not be said of Asuna Kagurazaka, whose loud decry preempted all of her classmates.

"Sensei, you can't be serious! Is _That Guy_ really taking over from you?!"

Again, the boy genius found his personal space violated by the very UN-Japanese Finger Point of Accusation! It was rude and extremely disrespectful, a fact that did not go unnoticed by anyone present. Asuna, being the wool-headed fool she was, had not the faintest clue of the controversy she had just created. As the senior man, Takahata was obligated to step up for his junior colleague. He already lost face to Negi right in front of his old class because of the outburst, and now, he would be forced to choose between her or his integrity.

It was a lose-lose situation really. His reputation was already in the hole amongst the faculty because of 2-A, but since his successor's arrival, his previous failure that had been tolerated previously transformed into a true mark of shame. The meeting earlier in the morning had not just been for Negi's benefit, but an unspoken blacklisting of Takahata as well. His detractors had always said he was too soft and lax; thus, his students suffered for it.

Most likely, even with the Dean's influence, this trimester would be his last term teaching at this particular school within the Mahora Academy District. The Board of Trustees would have him sacked and mailed off to one of the lower division schools, during the brief recess after the third term closing ceremony, before the new fiscal year began in April. Office politics was an awful business.

Professor Negi Springfield, of course, had not the full picture of his fellow colleague's plight, but a sinking suspicion that there were more forces at work here than meets the eye. Alas, he was scarcely in a position to help anyone, much less himself, as his credibility was still very much a work-in-progress. Anastasia was probably enjoying every single moment of this delightful booby trap somewhere, while the boy genius debated whether to put his reputation to the test now, or...

"That will be quite enough of you, Kagurazaka Asuna-san!" like a messenger from an angel (was that even proper English?), a miracle intervened on behalf of both the stranded teachers in the form of Class 2-A's very own class representative.

Takahata thanked his stars for Ayaka Yukihiro; he could always depend on the blue blood girl to throw her weight around, when it came to Asuna. Those two had been feuding, what, since primary school, was it?

As for Negi, he was glad he got saved by the bell yet again, but seriously, was that girl power posing? Hand on her hip and her own Respect My Authority Finger Point! directed at the infuriated redhead? Check. Blossoming flower background of elegance? Check. Yes, she was indeed powerposing for effect.

"Stay outta this, Class Rep!" Asuna vented, turning her metaphorical loaded gun now on her long time rival. "This has got nothing to do with you, understand?"

"My, my, but I must insist, Kagurazaka Asuna-san, especially when you infringe upon my duties and act as if you speak for us all. Your gross behavior is simply **aw**-ful; you have no right to exercise such power! Be ashamed and know your place, you violent gorilla girl!!"

The power of her decree had all the explosive kaboom of a canon shot, which quite understandably shocked her on looking classmates into stunned silence. As for the poor teachers caught in the crossfire, they could scarcely believe their awful luck at being led into yet another Mexican standoff. Takahata, badly, wanted to flee from the scene. Negi could only look on in macabre fascination of the oncoming train wreck, while wondering how was it possible that Asuna had not lunged at her opposite number with a blood curling scream yet.

It could not be anything good now, could it? Why the throbbing vein of anger on her forehead practically screamed that Mt. Asuna was about to blow! So what was the hold up, eh? Eh?!

"Feh, what's up with that~, _iinchou_-san?" Asuna drawled, her lips pulled back in an almost psychotic leer that sent a jolt up Negi's spine. Oh, he did not like that look; he did not like it at all.

Bad things were about to happen and Ayaka was blissfully ignorant. Ugh, damn the curse of dumb blondes! ...although Doctor N. Springfield would hope she was natural blonde, for at least that particular color combination was totally possible in normal humans. It would do his sanity so much good to know.

"Why, whatever could you mean?"

"Oh, come on~! Everyone knows your elegant and pure act is just that an act."

"Ho, what nonsense! Everyone knows that is the natural way of things that my outer beauty is but a drop in the ocean of my inner beauty, too."

Asuna's grin grew wider, if that was possible. "Heeeehhhhh~? What beauty could you mean---**you **_filthy __**shotacon**_!"

For those spectators, it appeared to have happened in an instant. Under different circumstances, a flurry of red and gold would have seemingly flown over chairs and desks, colliding with each other loudly in a titanic clash of feminine fury. What happened instead was the sharp scuff from a pair of Oxfords punctuating the air with all deafening loudness of an explosion, and standing there at the epicenter was Professor Negi Springfield.

Ayaka stood frozen in place, dumbfounded, by no more than finger upon her rosy lips that had silenced indignant triade. Her own scornful, stinging accusations she was about to hurl across the room, like an artillery barrage, that would attack her foe right at the heart, before the ensuing skirmish in bitter hand-to-hand combat. Oh, she should have been furious at this young upstart coming between her and her old rival, but...

"Thank you, Yukihiro-kun. I will take over from here," the new teacher, no, their teacher, Negi Springfield, told her with the most piercing eyes she had ever seen. Even her own father, who had first demonstrated the feat to her, could not hold a candle to the influence this young man, her own age, commanded, and---well, it was an exhilarating experience.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Negi thanked the riveting drama queens, for drawing the class's attention away from his stealthy movements. Their electrifying chemistry would make a great duo in theatre or the silver screen, truly. As for himself, well, his talents were better put to use in more practical applications, such as using a little animal magnetism to let Ayaka Yukihiro know her own place in the lion's pride.

In fact, he was better than just a lion. He was a damn "Tigerman", to homage Alfred Bester, and it was high time Asuna got a taste of her own medicine.

Negi pointed, and a collective gasp was released from the swooning majority of Class 2-A, who thought the whole spectacle totally romantic and savvy. "Kagurazaka Asuna. I, Professor Negi Springfield, sentence you to five hours total of remedial lessons to be completed by the end of the week. Your supervisor will be Takahata-sensei, and you are to report to him not a minute late within twenty minutes of the closing bell sounding at the end of each school day. I also expect a written letter of apology to the entire class, reflecting on your impropriety, in three hundred words, delivered to my desk, by the end of the week."

His words rang out with all the metaphorical force of arrows raining from the sky that soon turned Asuna's ego into a bloody pin cushion. Valiantly, she stood her blood stained ground on shaky knees, the color gone from her face, with the executioner's axe hovering overhead. Though wavering, the fire of defiance in her soul would not be extinguished yet!

"T, Takahata-sensei, he can't-"

"I'm afraid he can, and it's legal too, Asuna," Takahata smiled sheepishly.

"...Ah."

YOU WA SHOCKU!

Thanks to the bells wound in her hair, the sound, oddly, was very similar to a cow collapsing, as Asuna fell to her hands and knees, defeated, a triumphant theme song from Hokuto no *** trumpeting metaphorically in the background. Operation World Peace by Detention appeared to have been a resounding success. Negi could only share a silent manly glance with his co-conspirator, while the man went over to console his former student. Who knew they could still turn this beast around into a relative win-win situation?

"There, there, Asuna. It'll be okay. I'm sure your grades will finally rebound thanks to this, so let's do our best together, okay?"

Now, with no further interruptions, Negi wondered if he could please start his own flipping class already?!

* * *

The end of the school day tolled at four in the afternoon, a note that could not have come sooner. Young Negi Springfield exchanged the congratulatory pleasantries, demanded of his new celebrity status, amongst his colleagues, before making himself scarcer than ghost. The last thing he wanted to disappoint everyone with was how very human he could be.

Negi was exhausted. As much as Miss Asuna Kagurazaka had become an unexpected stepping stone in his rise to popularity, part and parcel of his growing list of "Heroic" feats, the experience had drained him, and considering the requirements of his profession, by the end of the day, he was utterly spent of empathy. More than anything at the moment, the boy genius wanted some space to himself, which was precisely why he was laid out on a bench beside a rather grand building that was the school library.

Excessive volumes of books and girls tended not to mix well together like flies and insect repellent. Coincidentally, it also worked against boys, too. In his experience, he could rely on the correlation to thin out all but the most exasperating outliers, depending of the time of day and the particulars of the season. Alas, there was one thing he forgot to account for, being in Japan.

It could not have been more than ten minutes of peace, when the great double doors to the library disgorged a busy bee that Negi did everything humanly possible in his power to ignore. Never mind the infernal creature, this particular specimen of a library representative, who was no beast of burden, yet already overloaded with a stack of books higher than she could see through her awful fringe, attempted to fulfill an impossible evolutionary niche. Bad hair, or so he had been told, could serve as a very effective means of preventing premature promiscuous relations between males and females, but the poor misguided creature clearly had taken the natural defense mechanism a step too far.

She was walking blind, illegally. Doctor N. Springfield, badly, wanted to forget he had seen such heights of idiocy. He did not have the heart or the mood to tolerate such a flagrant offense to mankind's common sense. Alas, he was a teacher, a scholar, and an English gentleman, obligated by duty to move his kisser over yonder and bring light where there was once none.

"Ho there, wait a moment, young lady," he called after the preceding girl, his Japanese losing much of its usual glamour for his aptly dubbed, _au naturel_ charm. For some reason, she just kept on going, without acknowledging his existence, which did not seem plausible in an environ of relative privacy, unless she was hard of hearing. Well then, the professor knew just the remedy for the problem. "...I say STOP, ye soaping git!"

His caustic cry, certainly, caught the cowlick-haired waif's attention, sending something akin to a paralyzing shock that jolted up her spine, now ramrod straight as soldier at attention. The little whimpering "eep!" was cute, probably too cute for his blackheart, which was on the verge of becoming unchained and ravishing the poor creature, with terrible words of foreplay. By the time he would be finished, she would be no more but a hopeless masochistic slut, for whom the pleasures of the flesh could no longer sustain her scarred intellect. Exchanging bodily fluids was asinine; artfully constructed insults to make Satan sport a new belly, now that was hot.

Alas, Negi would have to start charging by the minute then. One hundred yen per minute to say on the line with The Doctor sounded great, even though it was tantamount to prostitution. Wait... No, no, no, no, no Doctor N. Springfield. Very bad, Doctor N. Springfield! You are a doctor / Not a gigglo / Not a _masseur _/ What does that mean? / and I'm sorry he's dead, Negi. PRANA~ TOR~PE~DO~!

"Thou who wishes to cross the bridge of peril yonder," Negi caroled, while a great madness born of eccentricity and sleep deprivation took his mind to the farthest reach of the great beyond, "ye must answer me these questions three, from 'ere the other side she see!"

Magis-tra An~ya open hailing frequencies!

"Wot is your name?"

Yes, Doctor N. Springfield / opening hailing frequencies, Sir.

"Actually, don't answer that; I'd rather have it remain a surprise should we ever meet again, which we probably will, 'cos it's a small world, savvy~?"

Let's boldly go where no man has gone before / Ha ha ha ha ha!

"Wot is your quest?"

Beam me up, Mas-ter / Zelretch, go to warp!

"Wot is your favorite color?"

Warp Three, Sir? / No! That would be way too slow! / Warp Four, Sir? / That still is way too slow

"Wot is the title of play from which the line, '_What's in a name_? _That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet_,' is derived from?"

Warp Five, Sir? / It still is too damn slow / Warp Six / It's too damn slow / Warp Seven / It's still damn slow / IT'S TOO DAMN SLO~OW~!

Alas, the good times of a little bit of fun insanity could not last. To be truthful, he had listened to a single stuttering reply from the mousy, misguided creature he had been circling for the better of a minute like Jaws smelling blood in the water. His buzz was ruined utterly by a sweet reply, smelling of confidence that did not seem possible coming from the skittish library representative.

"William Shakespeare's_ Romeo and Juliet_, circa sixteen-hundred A.D. approximately, act two, scene two, lines one through two, as spoken by Juliet to Romeo."

"Aw, rats. There goes me groove," Negi deadpanned, and without thinking, did the sensible thing to be done. "Now, gimmie some of that tome stack already."

He was not quite a hundred percent yet with the names and faces, much less cutesy gasps. Yes, it did tickle his fancy some, a curtain of indigo hair, like totally biologically impossible for _homo sapiens_, but he made a deal with the skittish waif, integrity and all that jazz, so she was effectively under his protection. Excessive bullying of one's wards was just bad form, when his appetite should have already been sated with the earlier performance.

"Chop, chop, come along, cheerio! And lead the way, won't ye? Don't fret; it's not a lame duck act. After all, wot kind of English gent would I be, if I did not aid a damsel of distress, within the limits of me power? You win, and I'm your snarky knight until the quest is complete, savvy."

The indigo-haired wunderkind gaped at him openly. Doctor N. Springfield had seen and shared his debt of shyness, but the girl seemed to be trying to elevate the act to a new art form. By his dead reckoning, she probably was not used to having an infodump worth of words dropped into her lap, short of a lecture, which was a norm for habitual wallflowers. They tried not to get noticed; poor self-image and all that other laughable masochism.

"No, please. Don't. Just don't talk," he directed her around to the forward position by shear force of will. "I'm actually really, really, really tired right now, and cranky. Jet lag's got me bad, and I just feel---awful. Not close to human. Need tea. Need food. Need sleep. And, ohhh, much ado about nothing. Ye understand? Good."

It was a sufficient assessment of the girl, except he might have been missing a few details concerning her present trepidation over him. Perhaps, she realized herself to be an accept brand of cute~ person that fit his dietary pallate for teasing? Wait a second... Oh gosh! Self-fulfilling prophecy! Bad, Doctor N. Springfield. Very, very bad, Doctor N. Springfield. Did he need a leash? Well, Negi would hope he did not require one, since Kommisar Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova would be more than happy to walk him. He would sooner suffer a bloody aneurism than give her pleasure of such humiliation.

Thankfully, the damsel, whom Negi later identified as one Nodoka Miyazaki, student No. 27, understood the value of golden silence. She had no idea what was her homeroom teacher and English professor's major malfunction, but it seemed he was trying to vent his stress, while devolving into greater depths of neurosis. In fact, the boy---and, oh yes, he was very much a boy (oh heavens, she hoped he did not notice her blush)---might be neurotic to the bone from the start.

...Well, not that Nodoka thought it was a bad thing. If anything, erm, he looked quite dashing and brilliant, borrowing a line from Haruna-chan, as he spouted off about something or another and mussed his auburn locks. He acted the part surely like a modern William Shakespeare racking his genius for his next masterpiece of theatre! H, How could she even think to find fault in a man who had such good taste to appreciate the classics of literature?

Meanwhile, Doctor N. Springfield was blissfully ignorant that one of his distant admirers was leveling up into a full-time groupie. He was only too glad to be rid of her having done the deed at their final destination of delivery, though not before extricating a promise that in the future.

"Speak up, and ask for help; ye should know yeself best about how much responsibility ye can shoulder. Self-sufficiency and independence may be championed as the highest virtues, but everything has a silver lining to it, young lady. Wisdom amounts to knowledge and the courage to act upon it, understand?"

Of course, Negi would never make a claim to fame with espousing such philosophy, for he had enough shame to realize that he, too, was the product made from standing on the shoulders of giants who came before him.

"Good now I work here six days in a work week, so you know where to find me. Cheerio, carry on, and away I go. Whoosh!"

The same could not be said for Nodoka, who never read or heard those words. To her, he was empowering, the best thing since books! Before she could try to make a fool of herself, God bless, the impressionable Miss Miyazaki, Honya-chan to some, was abducted by a mysterious train of squealing groupies that had been following (read: stalking) herself and young professor for some time now. Suffice to say, they cared very little for her protests, as she was carried off like a trophy prize, and were out to extract every last juicy detail of the too hot for television encounter, in a fashion befitting a pack of vultures. Afterward, they would then disseminate the grisly tale through their friends, flowing eventually into the grand rumor mill in the blue sky where Don Quixote chases windmills even now.

Ah, the exuberance of youth, a spectacle Negi would be glad he had no direct participation in, as he returned to his original haunt at last, outside the library before fate threw him a bone. Never had it felt so good, so relaxing, and so right to flop his exhausted person down on the bench, with all the dignity of a pig wallowing in mud in a blistering hot Summer day. Everything would have been perfect, if he could just curl up in a ball and take a nap right here, without catching his death by the common cold.

For the record, he was really looking forward to stringing up a hammock somewhere in the coming Japanese Summer heat wave, beneath some cool shade, and sipping lemonade over cookies and a good read. Few things beat taking life easy and simple on his own terms, never mind that his love of simple pleasures grew out of an allergic reaction to the horrors he had faced growing up. It was a little known factoid that Doctor N. Springfield would never admit just to anyone, and he liked it that way for good reasons.

He was a perfectly stable human being, not unhinged, fit for duty, and why he was summarily annoyed when a shadow that definitely did not belong to the library fell over him.

Ugh. Wot. NOW?! thought Negi, feeling his tolerances for interruptions stretched to their limits. Opening his previously closed eyes, he had half the nerve to shoo the interloper off, when he saw who it was...

"Ah, it is you, Miss..."

"Sakurazaki Sestuna, number fifteen, Springfield-sensei," the sharp-eyed native girl bowed to him, an elegant, dignified gesture he found difficult to reciprocate adequately in his surprise.

In fact, the tired professor botched it badly, stuck between standing, bowing, sitting, and being embarrassed. He had not been expecting her to show up out of the clear blue. If this was the Dean's idea of being helpful, Negi did not want to find out his best at being a pain in the arse. "Ah ha ha ha...! Sorry, it appears you caught me flat footed, Sakurazaki-kun."

"_Iya_, _iya_, it's not like that. Please, don't misunderstand, _sensei_," Setsuna spoke quickly, holding up a placating hand. "It was never my intention to see you so... Well, erm..."

Okay, so she had not been sent here to prove how much of a douche his new boss can be, which was a good start, but it still did not explain the obviously troubled bodyguard girl's intentions. Setsuna had her school bag on one hand and a small tubular carryall slung on her shoulder that seemed to say she had been on her way to an afterschool activity. If he recalled correctly, yes, she was part of the kendo club, though he strongly doubted any of the children here could keep up with a professional swordswoman like her.

"Is there something I can do for you?"

The girl looked at him like he was a god send, which seemed to put an end to his theory regarding Konoemon's intervention. Alas, it also meant she did not know about his true identity or mission here either, a conundrum he would have to solve later. At the moment, though, Negi had to admit he was enjoying studying her some. He had never a met a serious samurai wannabe girl before, and interacting with one in the flesh was an unexpected joy, compared to manga or anime.

Atypical Japanese beauty personified, Setsuna Sakurazaki carried herself with a dignity and seriousness that put herself heads and shoulders above most of the specimens in the student body he had encountered thus far. She might even prove to be Anastasia's intellectual equal. Integrating her into the team should not be too difficult, and silently, Doctor N. Springfield was looking forward to the clashes between the traditionalist bodyguard and equally conservative magistra magi. It would take the bite off his boredom for quite some time, he imagined.

Though on a side note, The Doctor had to wonder, if beauty was a prerequisite for enrollment at Mahora Academy? He had yet to see one ugly person here, even the fat girls were homely pretty, the kind of future wife most men will settle for inevitably. The gross concentration of comely persons in such close proximity was starting to remind him of that one village he helped liberate some years ago where many of the young people were being sacrificed to some despicable parasitic creatures, who thought of themselves as gods.

Hah! Well, the Master and him, along with a help of other like minded individuals, sure showed those clowns that their beauty was only skin deep, and they were really just bulbous, stinking sacks of ass. Oh, how they partied hard when they got back to the villagers, hailed as-

Then abruptly, thunderstruck really, Negi held up his hand and shook his head knowingly, putting whatever else Setsuna was about to say on indefinite hold. "You do not need to say another word. I think, I know what this is about."

She could only stare quizzically as he stood up and stretched, breathing so deeply and vast that one might wonder if he were a mountain. It was rather---odd---to see a boy her age exude such a palpable air that the bodyguard could sense no pretense behind, a false mantle of self-important arrogance that was all too common. If it was not arrogance, it was ignorance, and to be frank, Setsuna prided herself to be a good judge of character, a skill she had plenty of practice in, more than she would care to have, actually.

Negi Springfield was an enigma. Even so-called child prodigies were still just that---brokenhearted children forced to grow up too fast, but it was becoming increasingly self-evident he may be the genuine article. The boy, no, young man certainly had his fair share of desirable traits: wise beyond his years, eloquent, charismatic, a "people person", handsome---wait, where did that thought come from?

The bodyguard blinked, as Negi gestured to her with a suave "Walk with me" gesture, which found no reason not to obey. As for her lapse in judgment, Setsuna chocked it up to the season getting to her bones, and the fact her extended post here in Mahora Academy was making her soft. Besides, she was only evaluating her teacher as a potential suitor to her young mistress, for it seemed the only logical reason he could be here, instead of teaching at some major institute, like Tokyo University.

In fact, Setsuna would not put it past Konoe Konoemon-sama, the whole thing smacked of the cunning old squirrel's influence. That said, it was damn well overdue he finally arranged for a proper husband-to-be to her young mistress! The bodyguard had been growing increasingly infuriated and insulted by the string of idiotic fops Konoka-sama had been forced to suffer, year after year. Distinguished men they might be but gentlemen they were not, and the furthest thing from warriors. They possessed no honor.

The almost ritualistic humiliation made her question, truly, whether the lord of the noble household she served had gone senile, a near unforgiveable infraction upon the code of bushido she followed. It was a terrible schism that tore her soul in two: loyalty to her lord, or loyalty to his granddaughter, whom she had been privileged enough to be charged with the mission of Konoka-sama's welfare. Hell, she had been beyond lucky to be chosen amongst all of the princess's many protectors to accompany her to Mahora Academy, an unbelievable honor.

These days, however, Setsuna could barely restrain her choler, bemoaning her fate, her powerlessness, and wishing for the impossible. The bodyguard could only pray Negi Springfield would not disappoint, or else, to borrow a phrase from the modern lexicon, she might just lose it like a screaming banshee, and heads would roll. Most likely she would be put down like a rabid dog, but someone had to speak up against the inhumane treatment her young mistress had to bear with for so long. It was ridiculous!

"Welcome! Negi-sensei~!" the cry of a hundred or so odd voices reverberating through the gymnasium broke Setsuna from her intense reverie.

Goodness, she had not been consciously aware that she managed to fulfill her present mission at all. Earlier, 2-A's very own Ayaka Yukihiro had accosted her, saying she was the only one the blue blood could trust to carry out a very important favor. Turns out the girl had been most moved by Springfield-sensei's gallantry that she thought it only correct to throw a surprise welcoming party for the young man to thank him and celebrate a historic changing of the guard. Takahata-sensei for all of his faults was quite beloved by all his pupils.

But with Ayaka being Ayaka, she could not keep such a grand operation secret for long, and once the other classes got wind of the scheme, they wanted in on the occasion too. It was said to have been a legendary battle of wills and rhetoric, hard fought, but oh-so worth it. At least, it was as much Ayaka told her with great enthusiasm, and as for why she had been chosen, well, Setsuna was quite flattered to learn that the class representative thought of her as a very respectable, dignified figure, in spite of her reticence.

Alas, her impeccable dignity made her a touch difficult to approach, for most people, an enlightening revelation actually, which would partly explain why juniors and seniors at the kendo club tended to avoid her. Not that Setsuna Sakurazaki minded terribly; solitude and her were old friends. It could be lonely at times but her sword work and meditations helped to curb the worst of her melancholy.

"Heh. All right, you rascals," the guest of honor spoke from his podium, with a sheepish smile. "I will allow your bit of selfishness this time, so without further ado: Let's PAH-TAY~!"

Well, now that her task was complete, she had best be going. There was never enough training to be done-

"May I have this dance~, young lady?" said the unexpected surprise to her, leaning in so that they were nearly nose to nose with each other. "Hit it, DEE-JAY!!"

How. H, How most inappropriate! N, Negi Springfield. What was he doing... UUWAHH~!?!

* * *

Elsewhere, in a dark secluded location, staring into the glowing bloom of her crystal ball, Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova felt a treacherous pang of envy take root in her heart at the festive scene playing out some twenty minutes away. It. Just. Wasn't. RIGHT. that her target was having so much more fun than she was!!

"Mambo~ Num-bah Five~!" echoed the suave, jazz tones of Lou Bega over the audio reception.

And oh, could that scoundrel dance, was dancing with his own students! Anastasia loved to dance, but no one in their right minds would ever ask a prepubescent girl to a dance. Short stuff, midget, house elf, gnome: she was the sum total butt end of every joke at her first ballroom party with the agency.

Aaagghhhhhh! Curse you, Negi Springfield!!!

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Hnnn, nothing in particular. Everything seems to speak for itself. Swing dancing~! And yes, Hideaki Sorachi, the creator of Gintama is very much my inspiration for the lemony narration.

My thanks to the folks who reviewed last time, and I hope to see you all again for the next gig.

Cheerio.


	5. Chapter 5

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 05:

Office Hours: Get Your Learn On!

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

In hindsight, maybe he had been a little too cynical that he would not have been able to survive even one week in Japan, for Doctor N. Springfield was very much a proponent of slow living. As it turns out, Japan was a land teeming with enough save points to make it impossible to bemoan his character being low on hit points, a wholly unexpected benefit of a live fast to die faster society of convenience. If he was rearing badly for some Earl Grey tea, the professor need not wait more than fifteen seconds before the opportunity to make such an impulsive purchase happened to appear right before his eyes, in all of its manufactured neon flaming glory.

Why Asuna had even carried out his sentence to the letter and delivered as promise on his end date. Yes, Negi was still behind on his schoolwork, and he had not come close to finishing his unpacking. His last Sunday alone had gone down the drain from sleeping in, before making a much needed trip to the supermarket. Thank goodness for home delivery service; the young professor was so pressed for time that he felt guilty for not showering his doting bloodletting lipservice on deluxe setting upon Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova. They say poisonous pink polka dot chihuahuas can perish from loneliness, and the Ruskie must be so awfully bored, like a jealous lover, without him to entreat her properly.

Their ritualistic morning "skinship" and evening war of words over dinner just was not enough to sate their blackhearted appetites. Negi swore to correct such a gross discrepancy, as soon as he finished settling into the madness of modern Japanese living. In the meantime, duty called and it would like to report post-haste back to the real world, where he could admire the plentiful bosom of one maternally platonic Shizuna Minamoto.

If the rumors at the watering hole were to be believed, Takamichi T. Takahata was one hell of a lucky bastard. Yes, she was probably too slow to keep up with a high maintenance individual such as himself, Doctor N. Springfield had to admit, but fantasies existed to be fantasized about, yes? Therefore, there was absolutely, positively nothing wrong with doing so.

"And that's the story, Springfield-kun," Shizuna clapped her hands together with a rising movement of her bosom that he found most academically fascinating. Practical physics! Good gosh, man. "Think you're up for it?"

"Remedial lessons, huh? I see no reason to object," Negi nodded in his chair, mindful of the darting teary-eyed looks of envy he was receiving across the staff room from males and females alike. He believed it had something to do with the fantastical metaphor of blooming radiance that occurred, when two compatible creatures happened to occupy the same space together. "I already passed the word along I would be open for office hours. It would give me something else to do besides busy work."

"Would you like to see the list?"

"Dear me, no thank you. I find some things in life are best enjoyed as surprises, or else, I would be dreadfully bored by our daily routine."

"My, my, spoken like a stately gentleman, is it not so, Springfield-kun?"

"Guilty as charged I am afraid," he shrugged sheepishly, with a content chuckle. "By and by, how bad is the prognosis, my good woman?"

"Well, _doctor_," she told him theatrically, which seemed to say the buxom woman was enjoying the little playful treat he passed her way. Negi, though, could only hope it was not a sign to mean that Takahata was an utter bore in conversation. He would have to go educate his bespectacled colleague otherwise on the finer points of how to "treat a woman right", for it was a crime against nature to offer a fine lady, like Shizuna Minamoto, any less.

"Yes~?"

"It's already the third term, so those who suffer from the malady of low marks now may be in some hot water for fi~nals~."

Almost simultaneously, all of their polite eavesdroppers broke out in a human wave of snickering at the aptly delivered punchline.

...Oh, so the jest was on me, huh? Negi impeccable bearing did not waver, but inside his proverbial balloon of ineffable happiness just got pricked, with explosive results. It seemed, once again, the young professor was going to have to clean up after someone else's mess. Yar, har, har, nice one Shizuna-sensei; very nice; he would be sure to remember she was a leopardess, not a cute cuddly kitten.

As for Takahata-sensei, the due date for his long overdue heart-to-heart talk just got moved up some more, a special occasion that The Doctor was going to be more than happy to break out his favorite bottle of vitriol.

* * *

"I mean no insolence," Negi deadpanned, crossing arms with almost bored levity, "but why am I not surprised to find you here, Kagurazaka Asuna-san?"

Once again, the young professor was tacitly reminded just how lucky he was ordinary school girls could not kill with just a look, although they could try to give him a really bad sun burn, aided by an adequately oversized magnifying glass. Asuna glared, and glared, and glared so hard willing the unspeakable to happen to him that with every violent shudder in her body that uttered a clamorous chime of her bells, she looked that much closer to spontaneously combusting. The shades of red her complexion was turning seemed to be a literal countdown of the coming conflagration, which Negi thought would be wise to head off.

"Baka Rangers, if you happen to notice your colleague, Baka Red foaming at the mouth, steaming from the ears, or even smell a whiff of smoke and quite possibly the most horrid stench you have ever smelled in your lives... You have my explicit permission to break out the fire extinguisher and first aid kit, post haste. If you are not familiar in how to use an automated defibrillator, please, say so now, so I may provide instruction. Also, I assume everyone here is aware of how to contact emergency services?"

His dry delivery had the same potency as sodium bicarbonate (more commonly referred to in baking soda) to a fire, suffocating Asuna's enmity under a tide of laughter from her fellow inmates. Okay, maybe he was being a little overwrought, peers were more politically correct, and the cowgirl really needed to protect herself better from him. Should it not be apparent to her now that he had a sweet tooth for cute~ people, hmm?

"Rrrgghh! S, So what? I suck at studying, big frickin' deal!" Asuna admitted defeat at last, a shock of---pink was it?---coloring her cheeks in vexation.

The other girls shared another guffaw at her scandalous tongue, although refraining from needling the redhead further in the interest of fairness. Of course, Negi swore he had done nothing to persuade them otherwise, with a conspiratory wink, promising of more hilarity to come.

"True, knowing our junior-high's role as an escalator school, it should not be terribly difficult to boot you to a high school---that is in a **lower **division. What a shame; oh, what a tragedy, it will be for you to have to say goodbye to all your friends and never see Takahata-sensei again, because of your poor placement scores, Kagurazaka Asuna-san."

The ramifications of her ineptitude had never been told to Asuna, evidently, by her flabbergasted surprise. It did not take much digging around to learn of her idolatry of his colleague, which smacked of a most troubling school girl crush. Heh, the woes of teaching at an all-girls school, was it? The fact that the only decent men seemed to be amongst the faculty would certainly give an impressionable, adolescent girl unrealistic expectations for her would-be Prince Charming.

That said Doctor N. Springfield was rather appalled by the accumulative sores of molly coddling present in Asuna, a chronic infection that had allowed to go on untreated now for some years. She stank like a spoiled brat, milk that had gone bad at least seven years ago, and in the entire time, he just could not believe no one had the nerve to get her a new sippy cup and change her long over due diapers. It was disgusting!

As for the rest of the rascals that made up the Baka Rangers, whom he had accosted in the middle of various activities, when they failed to report in, well, they were a different story altogether.

"Heeehhh~? That'd be terrible," cried Sasaki Makie, student No. 16, A.K.A. Baka Pink, still clad in her gym clothes. The aspiring gymnast had the atypical problem of student athletes, too much raw ability, and not enough finesse. "That means the Baka Rangers would have to break up!"

That said, she was part of the so-called "Athletics Trio", and posses tended to stick together through thick and thin, so Negi could not understand why she was left behind. Guess she really needed the help, in spite of her peers' best efforts?

"Ah. You mean, our status quo would be gone?" droned Yue Ayase, student No. 4, A.K.A. Baka Black, with all the enthusiasm of a caffeine addict on two hours of sleep. A diminutive creature, the girl gave off an air that would be more suitable for the elderly, not to mention her fetish with strange juice boxes that would send her frequently to the restroom. "Hmmm. That's no good at all is it?"

Her associates, whom comprised the de facto "Library Trio", were present in a surprising show of solidarity: one Nodoka Miyazaki and a Haruna Saotome that he, yet, had the pleasure of interacting with. Their presence, however, was far from comforting for Negi. The professor got the distinctive feeling he was on the verge of becoming the butt end of a joke. Adolescent girls had plenty of other things they could be doing with their time, so why bother coming out to a friend's remedial lesson? It did not add up!

"Hnnn? What's _status quo_-aru?" said Kuu Fei, student No. 12, A.K.A. Baka Yellow, dressed still as she was, when the foreign exchange student had been about to lead an exercise in Tai chi chuan, for the Wushu Demo Group. Her enthusiasm would have been laughable, if it were not for her earnest seriousness. "Can Kuu Fei eat it-aru?"

The Chinese girl was another atypical problem that could have been solved long before Negi ever set foot here: a language and culture barrier. Takahata had better have an extraordinarily good explanation because the date for his day of reckoning just got bumped up, again.

"_She means status quo, Kuu Fei-mèi_," swiftly, Negi illuminated her with a dash of Mandarin, which he hoped was her native dialect. His Cantonese was serviceable but a poor choice for conversation.

Suffice to say, the flow of the friendly banter between long time dunces was put on hold, as the chestnut skinned girl, a rather unusual coloration actually for her people, broke out in an elated squeal. "_Uwaa_~! _Teacher Negi, I mean, Honored Teacher Springfield, your Mandarin is, um_... _Ooohh, I'm just so surprised_!"

The girls were at a loss, having never seen Kuu Fei so animated and natural in conversation. It was the sort of behavior that only came to her when she was demonstrating some form or another for Wushu Demo Group. Frankly, they had axed the idea she could even behave, like a normal girl, gushing in the presence of their young teacher.

Only Kaede Nagase, student No. 20, A.K.A. Baka Blue, seemed to be taking the whole event in stride. Tall and generally unflappable, with glamorous proportions, her trademark foxy eye smile had not wavered an inch, and much to Negi's annoyance, he had not yet caught her blinking. The Master had always a bone to pick with people who thought having a 24 / 7 eye smile made themselves more amenable to others. In fact, it was one of his highest rated pet peeves, always muttering that those fox eyed bastards were up to no good.

"Wow, Springfield-dono, you're just full of surprises, aren't you-de gozaru?" she addressed him in her distinctive fashion. The girl must have been quite a fan of samurai or feudal period dramas to have adopted the archaic "de gozaru" verb form, so firmly to her speech. He only hoped she would learn that there was a time and a place for such traditional language, by the time her tutelage under his care ended.

It certainly would not do her any good at a prospective job interview, thought Negi worriedly. "So they say, Nagase-kun. So they say. Now if everyone is satisfied with the pleasantries, take your seats and we shall be under way. For the record, no one is leaving here until they score an eight out of ten or higher."

"An eight or higher?" Asuna shot up out of her seat at the declaration, as if she had just been struck my lightning. "Are you nuts!"

"I have standards, Kagurazaka-kun. **Standards**. All of you are in academic trouble some way or another, and instead of waiting until finals for the ticking time bomb to blow up in all your faces, I am going to stamp out the cancer at its root, starting from today. Barring any serious complications, this study group will meet after school, three times a week, as per coinciding with my posted office hours. If you have an outstanding issue, I expect you to have the maturity to inform me prior to our meeting, is that clear?"

Poor Makie sweated helplessly in her seat. How did this conversation go from questioning Negi-kun's sanity, finals, time bombs, to a surgical operation on cancer, so fast? She did not know about the other girls, but she did not think her throbbing heart was prepared for this level of intensity.

"Good, then, let us begin the operation."

* * *

Unsurprisingly, but it still roiled him, the first one to leave was the unapologetically "my pace" Yue Ayase. When The Doctor decided to interrogate her on the subject, he was irritated even more to receive just about the worst lame duck excuse ever. Hell, it was practically an insult to all of his efforts.

Doctor N. Springfield had talent, admittedly, but first and foremost, he was a genius of hard work.

Yue Ayase was too lazy to care. "It's because I hate studying, _sensei_."

"You know, Ayase-kun," Negi had to fight the urge to wipe that silly cat-like pout of her lips, while ignoring the cheering squeals of her friends. "It is irresponsible to burden your teachers with extra paperwork, when you already have the ability to perform to an acceptable level."

"But then, I wouldn't have an excuse to see you, _sensei_."

Oh, how his fingers itched to work their magic on the little passive-aggressive trollop. One minute and twenty seconds. Just one minute and twenty seconds! She only had to bear with him for that long, and Yue would be forever a changed girl, with a brand new outlook on life!

Ugh. Breathe, Doctor N. Springfield. Just breathe.

"We see each other six days out of a work week, Ayase," he chided her finally in dry tones to match, dropping the suffix for emphasis to let Yue know that he had every intention of haranguing her until exam day. "I think you can survive not having one extra minute to spend with me. My office hours are for people who actually need my help, not an opportunity for your friends to sneak furtive glances at me, while sketching a caricature of my likeness for God knows what. I am a teacher, not a model."

Haruna in a surprising display of integrity, actually admitted fault right away, instead of playing dumb, "Ah ha ha ha! Darn, it looks like we got caught, didn't we, Nodoka-chan?"

Rats. There went his plans down the toilet to begin systematically dressing down the Library Trio.

"Huueehh! Ha, Haruna-chan?" Nodoka, evidently, was as blinkered as ever, and she still had not fixed her terrible hair. Goodness gracious, the professor was becoming increasingly convinced he had to lead these ignoramuses to the river of wisdom and drown them in the undertow, before they got the message.

"You are dismissed, Ayase Yue-kun. I shall see you again on Friday," Negi bid them before turning his attention to his next pupil.

As it turned out, with a teacher equipped with the proper faculties to assist her, Kuu Fei was an excellent study. She already had the diligence but simply needed some guidance, in terms she could understand, to make the correct, intuitive connections to fully grasp the material. It was probably the first time the Chinese girl had been genuinely happy with her schoolwork in a good long while.

What it meant for Takamichi T. Takahata, as Kuu Fei left though, was that his execution date just got accelerated even more. Negi badly, badly wanted to wring the man straight out of his suit. He might have had his good points as a mentor, but as an educator, he was simply awful. The nerve of him, how dare he, just allowing these problems to fester, when they could grossly affect the careers of his students in the future.

Had he not been taught that at the very least, to lead a happy life in modern society, practicing Aristotle or Confucius' golden mean was key? Goodness! What was a man like him doing here at Mahora Academy, anyways?

Alas, his contemplations would have to wait, because the numbers for the rest of the power ranger team had turned up, and it was not pretty.

"Ladies, we have a lot to work to do."

* * *

It was sunset, and the classroom was bathed fittingly in its convivial glow of oranges and reds, marking the end of one cycle and the beginning of another. Carryout meals from the cafeteria lay discarded in the trash bin, as the perpetual engine of time continued its endless toil. Kaede and Makie had left some time not long ago, but with them gone, the world of desks and chairs felt a little lonelier. Then again, the regular scratch of a pencil, punctuated by irritated grunts and sharp groans from its owner, was more than enough company to drive away such dreadful sentiments.

Asuna Kagurazaka was a constant source of ineffable joy. Earlier, she had tried to flee the room in hysterical flight, when the daft Takamichi T. Takahata paid a hit and run visit, but an opportunistic "table leg" had put an end to such an impulse. As a result, she suffer another hilarious indignity, leaving her rump high as a kite in the air, while her peers succeeded in failing not to laugh at her bear print panties.

Doctor N. Springfield being such a gentleman, who had no part in any opportunistic table legs, only rolled his eyes, averting his gaze tactfully, before directing the girls to render assistance to their downed comrade. He swore, at the rate she was going, Asuna was making herself out to be as bad for him, as a tub of Neapolitan ice cream for a fat kid.

The cowgirl was priceless, absolutely.

"_Uuu_... Hey, _you_," the pencil paused, heralding the now customarily rude address.

Negi, of course, had no intention of acknowledging her, until Asuna learned some manners, a lesson he had repeated many a time now.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, _teme_!"

Ah, was tonight his turn to cook? No, he was not obligated, but Anastasia would surely be very cross with him, if he showed up late.

"HEY~!"

Shame, he still did not know her very well, so bringing home a gift to smooth things over might not work out right. Then again, why not cake? Women love cake, do they not?

"...S, Stupid onion. It's impossible. Just give up on me-"

Asuna never got a chance to finish her downtrodden rant, interrupted with a crisping smack of something small, fast moving against her forehead. Bells jingling, the redhead yelped and shrank back covering her stinging injury that neatly brought tears to her eyes. It hurt. It really, really hurt, and how had she managed to still hold on to her pencil?

"So," a smiling Negi Springfield, bane of her existence, greeted her, without the slightest hint of a shame, "are your eyes open yet, or are you still experiencing delusions, Kagurazaka-kun? I am told the methodology I just employed is surprisingly effective against one's juniors, but if one dose was not enough, I can always reapply the finger-flick-to-the-forehead therapy."

Flushing red, Asuna spat back at him vehemently, "Kuuhhhh! Y, You jerk. Didn't I already say so it's impossible for me? You're just wasting my time and your time."

"_Hmph_. That kind of halfhearted attitude is such a brain killer, you realize? You will never be able to own up with me, if you are unwilling to, as the Yanks say, step up your game."

"I've had enough, okay? Everybody, except Konoka-chan, by now thinks, heck, knows I'm an idiot, so knock it off and leave me alone already. It's not like you even liked me, when we first met-"

Goodness, this defensive, self-depreciating reaction! Was she getting even cuter by the second? Ah. Not good. Not good at all. Asuna was walking dangerously into his strike zone, now. He had to reestablish equilibrium soon, or else, Negi swore he would have her for supper.

The Doctor smiled, cocking his head aside just enough for dusk's light to refract off his glasses, "Maybe you heard me wrong on the first day of class, Kagurazaka Asuna. As a teacher, and more importantly, a gentleman---that discrepancy vexes me... I find it disagreeable to be misunderstood, so I shall give it another go to illuminate you."

Hands still clapped over her forehead, Asuna colored at his intent and retreated even more into her seat, if that was possible, reminding him of a little prairie dog in its hole. So cute, so bloody cute! Oh, how he badly wanted to sweep her away into his arms and introduce her to Anastasia right this instant. The so-called violent, monkey girl was such an unbelievable helpless kitten, when she was down on her luck and feeling ornery.

He loved it, this contradiction, and the prismatic light receded with another shift in his posture, revealing a smile that had an ignited that rare sparkle in his eyes.

"Asuna. I swore an oath. You are my student, my legacy, a responsibility heavier than life itself. As long as there is breath in my body, I will never quit on you, forsake you, or abandon you, because to violate my covenant with you, my student, my legacy, would be the ultimate betrayal, an anathema. It would be the death of me, I would cease to be '**I**', and everything I have ever accomplished or would have accomplished would amount to nothing, a big, fat self-serving lie."

Asuna Kagurazaka blinked once, and then twice, at a complete loss for words. The only other person she knew of, who had that same look in his eyes at some time or another, was her own Takahata-sensei. It was, well, something mysterious that had always fascinated her about him. She had never thought she would ever meet anyone else besides him who possessed that sparkle, which had entranced her so.

What did it mean really?

Well, in Doctor N. Springfield's case at the moment, it was the ineffable climax of his guilty pleasure. The performance just now, thankfully, managed to relieve some of his stress by reminding him of what he had come here to accomplish in the first place. How ironic he was about to dive off the very pedestal Asuna had just elevated him upon.

"Heh. I do not expect a narrow minded, little miss priss like you to understand what is good about a man like me. Face it, you are _still _but a child; that said, would it really harm you to show some gratitude for the life you have been blessed with? ...For the record, there are people out there who are worse off than you that would gladly trade places, for the same comforts and opportunities you have. Tsk, tsk, you live in such a small world, Kagurazaka Asuna."

The spell broken and more than a little perplexed, the auburn-haired girl grumbled sourly back at him, "Well, sorry, for living in a small world."

What a strange boy he was, Negi Springfield. She really did not get him, but maybe...

"Oh, never fear; it is part of my duties to broaden your horizons. In fact," he clapped his hands together, "I think you have made some acceptable progress, so let us stop here for today. You are dismissed, Kagurazaka Asuna-san."

He might just be worth...um, fi-figuring out that is!

* * *

Back at the lovely suite of the Springfield's, Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova felt that familiar bite of envy return with a vengeance, as she glared at the prodigious television "wired up" to her crystal ball. It stank. It really, really stank of ham and cheese! Oh, and onions; she must not forget the onions. Negi Springfield's pick up lines were the worst, such that primetime soap operas could not even come close to holding a candle to him. Any self-respecting girl in her right mind would have broken down in undignified guffaws, streaming tears from her eyes at just how hard she was laughing.

So, why was it Anastasia wished he was saying those god awfully, melodramatic lines to her!

Aaagghhhhhh! Curse you, Negi Springfield!

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Well, that does it for my house cleaning. Now we can move on to some original stuff like a Sunday with the Springfields, recruiting team mates, maybe Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day / White Day, and oh, Finals which is going to be a total cakewalk this time, like over in a blink of an eye.

Many thanks as always for tuning in and reviewing. Hope you all are enjoying the shockwaves of different-ness that Doctor is creating, and fear not, my next gig is on the way.

Laters.


	6. Chapter 6

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. Oh, and sorta srs business ahead.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 06:

Apprentice and Master

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

Done, over, conclusion, resolution, end, limit, boundary, termination, terminus, deadline, check FINISHED, checkcheckcheck FINISHEDFINISHEDFINISHED, DIE, DIE DIE DIE, DIE THE DEATH, SENTENCE TO DEATH, GREAT EQUALIZER IS THE DEATH: in other words, it was complete. The man cave of Doctor N. Springfield was complete! If there was ever an achievement in the twenty-first century humanity could be proud of, it was the MAN cave.

Well, to be precise, Negi knew the politically correct term to be that his bedroom at last had finished its metamorphosis into his private studio. All of his necessities that he required normally to operate within the skein of sanity had been deployed at last from the bottomless pit of his backpack of "infinite holding". A white board, now steadily accumulating post-it notes and thoughts of the day, occupied a healthy amount of real estate on his walls, jockeying for position alongside contemplative posters and tasteful, post-modernist photographic artwork.

Ear marked books and reference texts worn from frequent use, occupied the cubbyholes on his desk, as befits a man of his scholarly profession. The battle for premium space, though, was by far more violent on his sole book shelf that seemed on the verge of collapsing under the weight of all the greatness it need to hold, like Atlas. There were arcane tomes and trinkets to be expected, but curiouser still, the many photographs in looping life like motion from which captured sounds could even be heard, if one would stop to listen closely enough.

Of course, these were the more innocuous items in his eclectic collection that the Doctor could afford to leave out in the open, disguised and protected by unseen Eldritch energies he had painstakingly woven into the very fabric of his chambers. Self-sustaining and largely autonomous, the security was nearly foolproof, providing himself with a much needed refuge where Negi Springfield could be himself with no interruption. Hell, it was precisely why he had chosen the bedroom that had no windows, an unbelievable stroke of luck.

And who needed a potent security risk that a window proved to be, when with a little arcane science, his whiteboard could also double up as an observation portal, which he had tuned almost permanently to a spectacular natural beach in the Bahamas? Why Negi had the best comforts of tomorrow's living already here in his own room. At a command, the bed could make itself, laundered clothes would store themselves away in the appropriate places, his chair would return to its proper place, and any of his materials, too, would come and return, with a sense of purpose unto themselves.

Indeed, Doctor N. Springfield had possibly an even grander scheme yet, to install a portal to his private magical atelier, where much of his ongoing experiments and collection still remained, awaiting his tender attentions. In the mean time, however, he had more mundane aspirations to meet, namely not being reduced to a fetal ball of burnt humble pie, after making a long over due phone call. Goodness, finally on his own, and The Master was still pampering him.

It was the infernal man's idea in the first place to send him back to the boonies! Yes, events played out a sight awfully more spectacular than expected in their last mission together, leaving Negi bed ridden in critical condition at the medicae facilities, while he toed the limits of The Boundary. Still, it was not the first time they got more than they bargained for; The Master and him had made a reputation for themselves on getting out of tough scrapes. Go figure when miracles need to happen, the senior partners always came slinking back, with their tails between their legs, to beg for his favor.

Impossible was Monday to him, evicting gluttonous dimensional Eldritch horrors from the nightmares of Lovecraft, by way of super zol orihalcum boot up the arse, is on schedule for the coming Wednesday. He just could not be beat, a force of nature, who seemingly existed to restore order where there had only been madness, rekindling the spark of hope in the direst hour. The Master did it as easy as breathing, and though fortune favored the bold, he was not without his demons.

Amongst the abnormals, companions come and go as a fact of life. Few normals can withstand the rigors of the perpetual engine's endless toil. The lucky ones go on to live relatively sensible lives, carrying a hell of a war story to recount to their loved ones. Those who accompanied The Master, however, were cursed, evidently so, to give their lives in the most horrible ways possible. It might not be today; it may be tomorrow.

Negi Springfield did not believe a hoot of the gossip. Many a time he had been approached with offers of apprenticeship to other abnormals, some quite lucrative, but the boy genius did not care for any easy short cuts to power and glory. Certainly, he was flattered by their recognition of his talents, yet what did they know? These so-called "superior beings" regularly sent his master away on practical suicide missions, offering a blank check, but refusing to lend their considerable power to battles where the lives of untold billions hung in the balance.

And they were surprised good people died? What manner of sick farce is this? Yes, in the grand design of _The Society_,Arbiters existed to investigate gross extranormal incursions and resolve immediate extranormal crisis, with whatever resources at their disposal. Yet nine times out of ten, The Master would be called forth to clean up another pre-endorsed fiasco gone terribly out of control.

It stopped being funny a long time ago. The infernal man had saved his life, opened his eyes to a world that he could never have fathomed, so vast and majestic as it was cruelly, beautiful. At the very least, Negi felt strongly obligated to accompany his master to The Edge and beyond, while they could still co-exist in the same time. Just abandoning the silver-haired "God of Death" to his eternal solitude, fingers stained in blood, unable to stop until everything met its end, an insane destiny...!

It's wrong is wot. So, why the bloody hell did ye send me away, Master? Negi scowled, as he activated the dialing array, a blue holographic projection of arcane runes floating suspended above his bed. Oh, sure, this was the first time I got a lot worse than just a flesh wound, and the surprise baddie of the hour got away, but it's not like we came empty handed, either.

Hopping off the bed while the arcanotech did its magic, he went over to procure a pair of objects bundled individually in pure white cloth from his backpack, which were to be the final adornments to his bookshelf. They say, what does not kill you can only make you stronger, and Doctor N. Springfield had to agree, even if his newly acquired trophies almost sent him up with a date at the pearly gates. What a painful ordeal it had been to: one to the gut, narrowly missing his liver, and the other he had sacrificed his weak hand against, when it came screaming shrilly straight for his face.

Setting one of the bundles aside on his bed, while unwrapping the other from its protective shroud for inspection, Negi still could not help but marvel at the relic in his hand. He beheld a mastercrafted daemonic stake, very valuable, high materialization firepower that was incredibly expensive to procure from the denizens of _Inferno_, but the story gets better. What the young magus had on hand was part of a set of seven, a legendary collectors item that many coveted more like priceless jewelry, and would loathe to employ their combat functions.

In truth, they were closer to royal keys than mere tools for murder. Negi admired the painstakingly loving craftsmanship and embellishments, as he released a pint of magic from his own reserves. "Come, my dear. Walk with me now, as I have walked with thee, and remember what form thou hadst."

Each word he canted, full of scornful affection, conferred a disturbing life to the gilded stake, which warmed and shuddered in his hand, emitting a shrill keening note. It sounded oddly female, too, as if in the throes of inexplicable passion or frustration.

"Surely, thou were cruel, but oh so very, very beautiful, as well."

With a crack of air, the daemonic artifact took off like a bullet, faster than the naked eye could perceive, ricocheting every which caustically in rising crescendo to its shrill characteristic note. Several times, it made a pass at the professor, slicing dangerously close within breadths of his nose, lips, and ears, yet he remained placidly dignified. Negi could hear the whispers, the cries creeping up, reminding of a rioting clamor, thousands of fists banging on the walls, repeating the cry of one pitiful girl, hopelessly in unrequited love.

_I love you _/ _I hate you _/ _I love you _/ _I hate you _/ _I love you _/ _I hate you _/ _I love you so much _/ _I want to kill you_!

"Please, once more, show me that form: Leviathan of Envy!" he finished, causing the world for all he cared to romanticize to explode in spectacular splash of gold.

What had only been a ghostly delusion but seconds ago, promptly gained a very tangible reality that struck him head on, with a full force body blow, flattening the good professor against the bed. It was mildly inconvenient (read: painful) but also enjoyable in a very warm, curvy, squishy, palpable sadomasochist outpour of euphoria and rose-scented perfume.

"You're late! _Uuuu_...! Late. Late. Late. Late~! Lord Springfield!" the clipped words poured out, or more correctly the meaning was beamed straight into his head, from the hysterical individual, obviously, undeniably feminine, straddling him with all the grace of a spider monkey.

For a sentient "murder tool" that can kill at variable velocity, rated from the deadly subsonic up to a smokin' stylishly sexy hypersonic, Leviathan of Envy was surprisingly human. Aesthetically pleasing in every way out of this world possible, what with verdant silken hair and red eyes, well, more like the color of blood, and curves to die for, her faults were many and eclectic. The worst being, a severe case of separation anxiety disorder, it was no wonder she was wretchedly bipolar and prone to hysterical tantrums, when she was ignored or did not get her way.

"L, Levia... Dear, est... Oxy-gen," Negi rasped, hoping his use of her pet name would reason with the poor, neglected green-eyed monster in her blackheart. He understood, perfectly, why some men (and women) aspired to meet their maker like so in his present state.

That said, Leviathan's attire, frankly, was pure high octane fetish fuel, somewhere between a business suit, a maid outfit, and a swim suit, with a bonus of leather boots and a garters. The person who designed it, clearly, had a definition of sexy elegance that was still ten thousand years too soon to be understood by the common plebeian. Doctor N. Springfield for all of his sophisticated excesses, alas, also found himself in the same category. It was not remotely practical clothing at all, in his not so humble opinion, since the entire package seemed intent on bring out the worst in people.

Thankfully, her uniform seemed to bring out the better part in Leviathan, as the teary-eyed banshee sat back some in not exactly an uncomfortable position, before resuming his torture by way of a vice-like grip, courtesy of her full creamy thighs wrapped around his waist. To add insult to injury, her painstakingly manicured nails sank themselves into his shoulders, sealing Negi's fate for pleasure and pain. The professor had to wonder if this was how the victims of an anaconda attack felt in the last waking moments of their lives, failing in the passionate embrace of their murderer?

Still, Doctor N. Springfield persisted, a vibrant smile playing at the corners of his lips, honed by years of bold adventure in the face of bowel movement inducing terror. To show his tormentor any less would likely assure his premature termination, if the legends of her creator's eccentricity was to be believed. Shame, though, Leviathan and her sisters were made clearly to accommodate more mature gentlemen (or ladies) for she towered easily a head a half taller than him, much to his embarrassment.

"There, there, you know what they say, Levia," Negi told the demonic "illusion" smoothly, in spite of the agonizing protests of his ribs. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

She would make a much better fit for his---M-Master!

"_PFfffffffftttt_. Ex~cuse me," interjected the crass baritone of six-foot-one and thirteen stone in his "clean" American English, oozing enough scorn to regularly make would-be megalomaniacs seek psychiatric help from his imperial, pernicious personage, even stepping foot within ten parsecs of their world. "_**Blegh**_. I think I'm going to be sick, and I'm all out of Pepto-Bismol."

Though no more than a ghostly apparition that exuded smoking packets of lagging data, beamed into his study from halfway across the galaxy, The Master still cut an imposing figure. His presence swelled to envelop the entire premise with his disdain, and for the life of him, Doctor N. Springfield could fight off the tsunami worth of shame that colored his cheeks almost irreversibly red. The present situation was the classical equivalent of having one's parent catch their offspring in the middle of elopement.

Even Leviathan seemed to have the presence of mind that she had just stepped on a helluva big landmine, and eased her ministrations, so that Negi could attempt some witty conversation to make peace with the man that mattered most to him.

"Hullo there, Master! How's the weather on PX-Three-Fifty-Seven this time of year, eh?"

Alas, The Master, obviously, had been having less than a fabulous day, as he was covered in sooty burns from head to toe, and the worse half of his face was in the process regenerating still. Flesh and muscle hung openly in macabre strings for all too see, like stringy uncooked meat, and to garnish the occasion, his crimson eyed glared balefully with a light of its own.

"Save it, I was wondering when you were going to call, and now, I find you playing with your---_toys_. It goes to show that the more things change, the more they stay the same."

Obviously, Leviathan of Envy did not take his snipe well, which was exactly what The Master hoped for, and exploited the opportunity with a vengeance.

"Shut your whore mouth, _Witch's Furniture_. Be grateful I'm a million light years across the stars somewhere, and it'd take too long for me to jaunt back and teach you a lesson that you're still a million years too soon to be putting up an attitude problem like a human. You're worse than a slave. You're a god forsaken meat toilet, and a friggin' rickety one at that too!"

...Ouch. Negi had to sympathize. If people wondered where he got his caustic tongue from, they need not look any further. Poor Leviathan was just petrified on the spot by mortification, a soundless scream emanating from her gaping rouged lips, as bits and pieces of her began to evaporate into golden butterflies. Still, the boy had to applaud him for refraining from using artless expletives, when addressing her; in fact, the God of Death had paid the daemonic homunculus quite a tribute. Leviathan might even be honored, if she knew any better.

"Dammit," The Master continued his rampage, wholly callous of the destruction he had just wrought, "I still can't believe you got ol' man Zel to convince me that it'd be a good idea for you to hold on to those shitty, overrated _keys_."

"But, Master," when his master got up into the mood, Negi, his apprentice of a good ten years knew better than to try and reason with him, but he also know the infernal man demanded such a gesture, "we've gots two of the legendary Seven Stakes of Purgatory, right here. Can ye imagine-"

"I can, and I don't like it," the abnormal spat hotly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "It's bad news for the whole cosmic neighborhood, including those pricks in _Inferno_, _Purgatorio_, and _Paradiso_, if I'm right, and I don't want to be right. _Feh_. Great, way to bite me in the ass again Zel; I so~ shoulda taken a nice, long vacation when I had the chance."

"Oh, master, ye know ye don't mean that," Negi trod lightly, a touch shocked by the unusual emission of melancholia from The Master. He could work himself into a funk some times, but the infernal man always came out swinging from his corner, faster than a blink of the eye. This time would not be any different, could it? Besides, without trouble, the both of them would be out of work! "Just beam me up, so we can get going like old times, yeah? I'm right and ready to get off this ruttin' rock any-"

What the professor was not expecting was for The Master to pull the selective hearing card on him. Funny, the abnormal always got on his case as a child for walking about with a thumb shoved up the you-know-where, so why the sudden change now? What was he trying not to tell him?

"Now, what's this I hear about you making waves already on Terra? Didn't I tell you to play nice with the locals and stay out of trouble, until you made it to the minor leagues?"

Or could The Master be trying to tell him something he could not say? A gag order on the Arbiter of all people---that could not be possible, could it?

"I sent you back, so you can start building street cred to take a shot at becoming your own gig in _The Society_. Sure, only six years passed on Terra, but we've been on a walkabout for ten years now. It ain't right for a bright kid like you to be spending his whole career in someone else's shadow. Still, just because I'm not there looking over your shoulder anymore, it doesn't mean you can go medieval and party like it was still Sixteen-Eighty-Eight! I'm too far away to come back and pull your ass out of the fire, so try to use those good manners you learned to your advantage, okay?"

Negi made a disagreeable snort at the lecture. Maybe he was thinking too deeply into the matter, after all. The Master did happen to say on occasion that brats should just be brats, 'cos it was not as if they were ever going to get a second chance to be brats.

"Anyways..." the abnormal shot him a long, hard gaze. "You look soft. Have you been keeping up with your training?"

Negi shook his head. It was not as if he ever succeeded in lying to The Master, and he was not about to start winning the lottery now. The infernal man just had way more life experience than he did, too much, perhaps.

"Well, get back to it; it'll be too late to cry, when you need to be tough, finally. School life in Japan---is way~ more interesting than you'd expect, so I hear."

"But I'm planning to switch-"

The God of Death stared at him, deadpanned, "You? The closet sadist and sommelier of the finer things in life, with a jackass ambition to land himself the cu~test~ eye candy assistant ever that'll never ever bore him? Leave an all girls' school? _Pfffttt_, that'll be the day, Negi. That'll be the day."

As for The Apprentice, he could only take his medicine like the good young man he was to become, much to his ire. Negi had never succeeded in getting the last word in against his master, either.

"Heh, you take care of yourself, squirt," The Master smiled, an expression that was much less grotesque than expected, thanks to the work of his natural healing factor. "I'll see you around when you're bored again; just don't come crying, saying ol' Ragna wasn't looking out for ya."

Even if he told him to wait, it was already too late, gone in a wink of color and static. The abnormal was always like this with his goodbyes, curt and bittersweet. Negi had seen the man make so many people cry, the black comedy value plummeted to zero some time ago, worse yet, now he was feeling the same pangs himself.

"One of these days, I am going to have a **normal **conversation with that incorrigible man," swore the young professor in Japanese, all traces of his former easy informality gone. "Fine; he is keeping me home for my own good, but I would appreciate a hint of what trouble I ought to be looking out for, if anything at all, thank you very much. In fact, why can he not come out and say he is scared off his bollocks at the possibility of losing-"

The Doctor's diatribe, unfortunately, had to be put on hold, just as he felt the viscous acid pangs of a full blown fulmination coming on, too. To think he had not been so affronted, since roughly a month ago, when The Master handed him the proverbial pink slip, relieving him of his duties as an apprentice and dropping him into his present circumstance, where the freshly unpetrified Leviathan of Envy beset him on all sides. Most of men would have been overwhelmed by the copious amounts of distressed, svelte flesh, but not so in the case of the young professor.

His face buried in the mounds of Venus, Doctor N. Springfield snorted in irritation.

"Levia darling, I say this once, lest you wish to suffer my displeasure: behave and remove yourself from my person. There is no question you are a precious heirloom to be treasured, so do yourself and the meister who created you some credit, and _remember _that bittersweet dignity, which befits you."

Though he spoke in clipped tones, he dared not begrudge the sniveling demonic homunculi a measure of _pathos_. Why to do so would violate his brand of gentlemanly mores, in particular, Negi would renege on Rule 3 "Always give a scorned woman of close relations her due." Women could be such cruel, debased creatures in ways men have not even considered yet, a fact that was alas the law of life amongst the Seven Sisters of Purgatory.

Yes. Leviathan had sisters, one tyrannical elder sister and five wretched, awful younger sisters, and the most terrible one of them all had come with her. In a sudden tempest of golden butterflies, the "viper" made herself known in the professor's studio, with a flourishing bow, dressed much the same as her sibling, but that was where all similarities ended.

"_Fu fu fu_, why bother, Ma~ster?" caroled the brown-haired beauty, her fangs bared, dripping wet with mocking venom. "Such fine things like dignity would be wasted on the likes of her. Slow. Buggered. Clumsy. ...**Ug**~_ly_~! _Tee hee hee_, that unsightly crying face, oohh~, it suits her so much better than a smile. Isn't that right, **Meat**. _**Toilet**_!"

Leviathan colored, spluttering ineffectually under the assault, "Y-You...!"

"And what about me, Levia-nee~sama?" her foe darted into opening reminiscent of a champion prize fighter, gliding like a rose petal, stinging as its thorns. "Oh my, you don't think a rickety meat toilet can win against me, your perfect little sister, can you? _Tee hee hee_! That's nice~, a nice joke, that is. So, it's about time you stepped away from Lord Springfield and go rot with the garbage, **junk**. BEGONE."

How disappointing. Negi had been hoping for a different outcome, personally, as Leviathan formally fled from the game board with a shrill blubbering cry, like she was on fire.

"_Uuuu_~_WAAAAaaaaahhhhhhhh_! I'll, I'll re-member t, this!"

It was the fourth time he had seen the bloody spectacle play out between the siblings, and like always, the younger sister let out with a shrill, callous laugh that contradicted her physical beauty in every way. In the case of the Stakes of Purgatory, beauty really was just skin deep.

"Was that necessary?" the professor found himself saying, an unintentional slip of the tongue that immediately drew the viper's crimson-hued gaze upon his personage. The same color yet Leviathan never succeeded in drawing out a genuine feeling of sinister disquiet in him. If anything, he only pitied her; the same could not be said for her sister. "_Wait_. Never mind. This is coming from the wench, who said she wants to shit my brains out, when we first met, so it is about par for the course."

"Ooohhh~, but! But, this Monmon," she giggled coyly, affecting an air of such sweet innocence that all might have been forgotten had it not made Negi want to retch, "just could not think of any better way to deny anyone else, even one scrap of you, Ma~ster!"

And she was using that ludicrous pet name of hers to ingratiate herself with me again, is she? he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Mammon of Greed, I always knew you and I would not see eye to eye. Thank you for sending Levia to her happy place, but---I certainly do not recall ever sending for you. ...**Bad **girl, Mammon. Very. Bad. Girl."

Unrepentant of her unauthorized appearance, which had broken a cardinal rule Negi set forth not long after becoming their new master, the ever rapacious Mammon skirted closer to his bedside instead. Her eyes glowed quite literally with a perverse, drooling eagerness, reminding the disapproving professor of burning hot coals. "Oh~! Oh! Then, Master...! D-Does that mean...! You'll _punish _Monmon~? Oh, oh, take me now, Master~!"

Him? Punish a demoness by breaking her spout over kettle on his lap? Doctor N. Springfield would be more than happy to for people with an ounce of shame. He sure as hell was not going to give Mammon of Greed exactly what she wanted; in fact, it was about time he got some fresh air to clear his head. But first, he had to make it crystal clear that he was not happy with her, and a bit of his Britspeak was just the medicine.

"Dream on, ye sadist sow, like the fever pitched delusions ye have of me stringing ye from the gallows by your rutting entrails. Now: be good and stay out of trouble. Oh, and if ye would have me play games with ye, lass, I wonder if it might be fortuitous to make up with Levia...? _Naff_! Must be with a cold I am coming down. Ex-cuse me!"

On second thought, Negi could also use a bath. The filthy smirking look the demon homunculi shoot him in the back, reminding him of a housewife favoring the value of a piece of meat at the butcher's, except she would not bother to marinate and sauté him properly even. Mammon of Greed would eat him raw.

With pleasure.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Furniture, in the parlances of _Inferno_, are the equivalent of a mage's familiar or an Angel's scribe. The particulars, of course, are quite different, e.g. even demons themselves can be regarded "Furniture".

Angels and Demons, the superior high order beings born from the primordial subconsciousness and belief of low order sentient races. Their equivalents are present in virtually all societies across the sea of stars.

_Witch_, at least in the context used by Ragna the Bloodedge, is a term that describes "_ascended_" mages whom exist in roughly the same dimensional plane as Angels and Demons. Having attained a measure of "enlightenment", they wield nearly limitless power, and often have no compulsion not to abuse such a privilege.

PX-357 first encountered in October of 1602 A.D., a feral planet that has earned its reputation as a "Death World" by The Society's survey teams. If it is not the jungle trying to make a man its next meal, the all too real boogey man was out there, waiting to suck on a man's brains straight through his nose. Rife with unusual extranormal activity from long abandoned temples and monuments, expeditions still persist in the hopes of unlocking the secrets of the strange phenomena. At the same time, recruiting efforts hope to fill The Society's dismal ranks with viable sentients from the scattered local populace that show promising signs of resistance to the insidious effects of the non-Euclidean geometries exerted by extranormal entities and related phenomena.

The Boundary, a term referring to the realm of the dead.

Thanks for tuning in and the reviews as always. Some serious business here, or not? Do come back for my next gig. More fun times in the private life of The Doctor.

Uh-huh.


	7. Chapter 7

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. Edit: Just corrected a very embarrassing fib. My bad~!

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 07:

Seasons Greetings

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

"Winter Holidays", what a wonderful novelty it was the young people of Earth enjoyed, so foreign that he thought the idea quaint, because for the longest time, Doctor N. Springfield had lived in complicated circumstances. Being the apprentice to one of the most powerful individuals in the universe, alas, did not have a whole lot of lucrative benefits up front, what he had to look forward to growing up in the past ten years was long, arduous work hours, with no overtime compensation and barely a snowball's chance in hell for relief. Because the fact is, The Master lived pitiably astray from the ordinary, dwelling instead in the heart of Dante's dark, Stygian wood, which he called "home", a savage place, so dense and dangerous that recollections in hindsight still instilled fear in Negi.

Raising a child in nightmares so bitter that death would hardly be more severe was the furthest deviation from the norm of a naturally conducive environment that could shape a "correct" human. What had been manufactured in the stead of a boy, with rigorous conditioning and meticulous grooming, was a weapon masked in fashionable human skin. The Master needed an asset not a liability, because he was only a single individual with an inexplicable number of so very fragile lives in hands, whom reminded him daily there was such a thing, as a time limit on trust.

He did not want to let them down. Negi only ever had just enough time to catch half a breath, yet through it all, The Master had tried his best to do right by him: three square meals a day no matter what, at least six hours of sleep. Hell, the abnormal would carry him on his back if need be, reminding him much of a similar premise the professor found recently in a much hailed literary work, Lone Wolf and-something-was-it.

Indeed, those were the good things he could remember fondly to balance out all the bad that had happened. Negi never knew his parents, no surprises there, and he did not have much of anything to be thankful to them either, save for the scar of a broken crystal night, doused in flame. Then again, The Doctor supposed he ought to be grateful because if it were not for their irresponsibility or otherwise impotence, he would have never met his new family.

The whole lot of them were people who would be rejected out right in normal civilization, regarded as monsters and abominations, which was not far from the truth. Still, they were all he had and the best he knew: hoary grandparents, conniving aunts and uncles, and boisterous cousins. What a shame that he was well past the time of his brothers and sisters, whom The Master had many a nostalgic anecdote to recant, for educational posterity.

That said, they had all tried many times to bring the abnormal to task over his excess of taking a child with him into the heart of darkness. The Master, of course, told them off in plain, blunt language that he was not keeping anyone under duress. If Negi wanted to leave at any time, he need only say so, and truth be told, his apprentice had entertained the thought many a time.

It would only take a word to end the adversity of waking the next morning only to face his next pain, but The Doctor was a pertinaciously obsessive creature. Never was it an issue of pride; he liked to believe he just did not like being told that the absurd was impossible for him, when his idol could do the same like breathing. Eventually, the grandstanding and somehow coming out on top against the odds became more than bluster, but the fundamental need to sate his soul. The danger, the terror, and his survival became the metaphysical acknowledgment that he was real and mattered; that he could be an asset.

Negi Springfield did not want to be the one left behind, anymore.

But enough digress, for at present, Doctor N. Springfield really did not know what to do with himself now that the holidays had come, causing much of the student body to flee from Mahora Academy in a virtual mass exodus. Back when, he only ever had a day or two of "R&R", maybe three, because someone, somewhere, some when was always in need of saving, meaning The Master's schedule was backlogged constantly. Thus, the enormity of having a twenty-odd days on his hands was...inexplicable, leaving him at a genuine loss.

His schoolwork was all caught up now in December, thank goodness, and his pet projects were going about as well to be expected. The real surprise was that Yue Ayase turned out to be his real problem child, and not Asuna Kagurazaka, whom by now had established herself formally as his traditional opponent in class. Whatever tomfoolery it might be, the redhead would try her damndest to pin the dirt on him, usually leading to a comical backfire that would cement his position even more. Negi could recant the dodgeball fiasco by wrote, and it still did not bore him.

Accusations of black magic and soliciting a minor? Goodness gracious, the preposterous things she could come up. He had dealt with those three highschoolers in plain sight and just a little bit out of hearing range to tease the gossipers, as the de facto leader of the hags three swooned ripe as red wine, with a nosebleed. The other two did not fare much better, scarcely remembering to catch their leader, some forgettable, shallow wench, whose name he could not be bothered to remember.

Who knew the romance languages were actually that-romantic, and with a little encouragement, spoken French could perfectly substitute itself for latex bound sexual intercourse over the blower? Heh, what fun he had afterwards jerking Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova's chain around. Red to her ears, she was convinced absolutely that Negi had used unauthorized sorcery in broad daylight to serenade the hags three into his thrall. As customary, he tacitly downplayed the accusation at her expense, stopping just short of whipping the frustrated spitfire into an irrational frenzy.

See, the good professor thought in the present stage of their relationship, Miss Cocolova was not ready yet to take things to "the next level", so to speak. Negi, honestly though, could not wait to see the proud little redhead unleash her _wild _side, for there was an animal in every human, regardless of how high the species has elevated itself. Men were still just that-educated apes, barely uplifted primates according to some of the more abominable abnormals in _The Society_, and some days, The Doctor found himself agreeing with their cynicism.

But again, he was going off on a tangent here: Yue Ayase was a problem child. In the three odd months since his arrival, Negi had failed to make any significant progress in cracking the Ayase Code. The girl had the sex drive of a bricked game console, and all the passion of three red rings of death, the combination of which effectively neutralized almost all of his advantages. Her dossier provided some hints, an interest in children's literature, philosophy, and volunteer work at the library, but to be honest, his ethics as an educator was getting in the way and allowing her to fly right over the cuckoo's nest.

It was frustrating, a setback. True, her grades had improved, thanks to his constant haranguing, but it was a temporary solution. In the long run, the seemingly apathetic girl needed to pull her head out of the clouds and realize the only reality she was permitted to live in was here and now. Yue could blame it all on the misfortune of her birth as much as she wished, but when ignorance was bliss, than ignorance can be said to be a form of wisdom. It certainly protected the masses from pure, unadulterated defecating terror of the truth.

"Ho... What's with the sourpuss face, Springfield?" interjected a familiar petticoated voice, dripping with venom.

You're the sourpuss pussy cat around here, Cocolova. In fact, let me remind you, snorted Negi with a harmless smile that did not reach his eyes. It was awful rude of her to interrupt his ruminations, yes. "Goodness gracious, my dar~ling cousin, I think your eyes have gained a most fascinating color of _ill _green as of late. It suits you quite well, actually."

Even before the lovingly poisoned retort had left his lips, Anastasia, perched across the way on the comfortable khaki-hued settee, had braced for the worst of the incoming flak. In the months they had lived together, she learned quickly that the young professor's smiles were all too often an omen speaking of some terrible deceit to follow. Slowly, painstakingly, the magistra magi was assembling a more proper dossier of the capricious heir to the "Earl of Ibrasel", a powerful title that had not been in use for well over a hundred years.

It was strange, very strange to interested parties at The Clocktower to think an heir would resurface, after so many years of inactivity. Negi Springfield, certainly, possessed all the narcissism and fastidiousness of a nobleman, which could be contained just barely in his youth of fourteen years. He was a wretched creature, smiling with one hand while sneering with the other, as if people existed for his sole enjoyment, puppets to dance for his social experiments.

Anastasia did not take long to conclude she hated the handsome rogue, loathing every second she had to spend reviewing his activities daily and uncover the inner workings of Negi Springfield. Therefore, why was it she was flushing beet red, breathless, at his capricious word that was both a compliment and an insult!

"Wh, what?" the redhead shrieked shrilly in girlish befuddlement that was quite proper for her age.

Oh, how Doctor N. Springfield savored the sensual chill of seeing his precocious, poison chihuahua act her age, showering the cute~ little bugger with a pleased eyesmile. Alas, his gratification did not last longer than a heartbeat for he nearly tore his morning Sunday paper in tow reflexively upon spotting the glamorous, translucent figure of a young woman hovering several feet off the ground by his poisonous chihuahua. The mouth watering expression she wore on that beatific, yet so cruel face screamed with childish naivety:

"Master, Master! Can Levia eat it? This fragrance; this flavor! Ah, so~ tasty~! Levia, y'know, is so~ HAUWN-GRY! _Nyrorororororo_~_n_!"

Poor Anastasia, though, was blissfully unaware of the horrible fate that hovered over her head as certainly as the headsman's axe. Lacking the superior perception provided by his A.R. glasses, developed using the closely guarded pearls of arcanoscience gleaned over the centuries by _The Society_, she would be slain easily in an instant by a foe she never saw coming. Hell, it had taken a lot of tinkering and cajoling the Sisters of Purgatory, before Negi himself found the correct "frequency" to attune his autosenses to recognize.

Not to mention, the professor had been quite surprised to discover The Stakes possessed such a sophisticated "cloaking" function that closed the gaps between themselves and true "Weapons", quite significantly. What a shame that their meister had not seen it fit to include an owner's manual with the girls because he was still trying to figure out the telepathy thing. As for Leviathan of Envy, well, Negi knew for a while now the daemonic homunculus had her eye on the Ruskie girl, except obviously he had grossly underestimated how serious Anastasia's green-eyed streak was becoming.

To his relief, a madly giggling Mammon of Greed, whom appeared out of the clear blue, tackling the former with manic glee through the walls, delivered him from his predicament. Negi swore it might have been his worst mistake yet, allowing The Stakes to roam freely about the apartment, but the concession was not necessarily without its benefits. For starters, he could procrastinate just a little longer on finding out what was making his precious~, poisonous pink polka dot chihuahua so green!

Still smiling, Doctor N. Springfield continued his consultation, "To be frank, recalling an experience with my uncle tends to do that to me I am afraid so."

"Y, Your uncle?" Anastasia blinked at the sudden change of subject, bouncing her poor fluttering heart about the walls to its wit's end.

She was still reeling from the shocking retort, but her professionalism could not resist the tasty morsel her target had thrown her way either. Most likely, it was a trap but the best lies had some truth to them, and like a prospector sifting for gold at the river, the magistra magi lived and died for such an opportunity. Besides, the distraction, erm, the revelation would address a priority objective in her investigation, for now would be the first time Springfield even gave a _**hint **_of his family history.

"He is a git. Definitely not the type of material you want to introduce to the family of your future significant other, as the best man at the wedding."

"W, Wed-ding!" again, in spite of better logic, Anastasia found herself shrieking shrilly at the bombshell that had just been dropped into her lap with all the grace of a hot potato, causing her to leap up to her feet. "Y, You have a fiancée? Wh, Why didn't you tell me-"

"Me? Engaged?" he asked incredulously, before his smile split open in a shameless grin. "Ha ha ha ha! What a wildly, raunchy imagination you have there, my darling cousin. It almost makes me wonder if you have entertained such debauchery yourself with some scoundrel who struck your fancy. **Heh**. If I had my way, I would see to it that the git be vetted thoroughly, and afterwards, **tarred **and _feathered_, before he could even think to share the same breath of air with you. I found you first, and I happen to not appreciate the conception of sharing is caring very much."

Now, what was a girl in her right mind supposed to say to such an outrageous statement? Anastasia was hardly prepared for the new landmine in the road of a working relationship with Negi Springfield, who did not seem to mind the implications at all.

"Wh, wha, WHAT!" suffice to say, the poor girl's wit failed her again. She just could not understand why it was that his words made her feel so-good? Gods... Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova, desperately, needed to get her act together. That Springfield bastard was **aw**-ful! Contrary to his magnanimous rhetoric, she believed firmly he was nothing more than a realpolitik beast, a hated Machiavellian enemy of the common man.

There was no way a magistra magi of her caliber could be falling into his thrall, in spite of the fact, she was utterly hopeless at dictating the ebb and flow of their battles. Every time they spoke, Anastasia felt the ill maggoty slivers of doubt wriggling their way into her skull, suspecting that in fact Negi Springfield already had her dancing like the mouse to his pied piper. She refused to accept such a reality.

"By and by," said the young professor, folding his newspaper neatly before setting it down on the coffee table, "I am more surprised actually you are staying here for the holidays."

Anastasia scowled at the seemingly innocuous inquiry, but found herself willing to risk humiliation once more for the sake of truth, "O, Of course! I would never shirk on my duties to The Clocktower."

"Oh heavens, darling cousin, cannot your sense of duty rut itself for a little while? Christmas and New Years are on the way soon, arguably one of the most important times of the year in the modern world. Surely, you have friends or family you would rather spend a precious moment with than me? I can imagine your honorable mother and fa..."

Instantly, he regretted his wry slip of the tongue, spotting the brief flicker of genuine blackhearted hatred in Anastasia's eyes. Negi forgot in his excitement that most people were not as compartmentalized as himself. There was a time and place for everything, when to be angry, when to be hungry, when to mourn, when to be bored, and so on. He lived his life in a surrogate family unit, scattered about by vast distances and differing priorities. Ordinary plebeians, on the other hand, had a much more passionate, closely knit circle in comparison.

She sneered scathingly at him, baring her pearly white fangs. "Why, _of course_, I do! With tens of colleagues and friends, and my parents I should be, **instead **I am here kowtowing to your wretched hide, Negi Springfield."

Great, I guess, it was too soon in our relationship to be joking about that, thought the professor with an inward sigh. He must have been neglecting the poor thing more than he first estimated. Still, it was not as if the situation was not unsalvageable. "What is your favorite confection?"

"K, _Kuhhhh_! And what's THAT got to do with anything?"

"Oh, Cocolova, but _of course_, it has to do with eve-ry~thing!"

Unfortunately for the incensed magistra magi, glaring contests were Doctor N. Springfield's forte. He had plenty of practice thanks to the attentions of The Master, and when his prowess failed, he knew of a dirty trick to help even the odds. Hunching over forwards, Negi steepled his fingers together as if considering the meaning of the universe and bowed his head just enough to catch a beam of light, causing the lenses of his glasses to refract and glow with a disturbing backlight.

He coined the position, "The Arch Bastarde Pose". The Doctor's colleagues, on the other hand, recognized the particular technique he employed to be "The Shiny Death Glasses", with great trepidation. As it turned out, Negi was a natural at the skill too, having many intimidating examples to learn from, and though still young, on a good day he could even influence a surly grizzly bear to crap itself.

Thus, reeling quite possibly from the worst sunburn ever, or so she thought, Anastasia reconsidered her position. She arrived at the grudging conclusion that it was still too soon to confront the inglorious basterd on his own terms. There were too many unknown factors about the Heir to the Earl of Ibrasel, and her injured pride would have to wait. The magistra magi consoled herself with the fact that indignation was a debt best repaid ironically.

"...P, parfait," Anastasia colored with a huff, snubbing him by the upturn of her nose and chin away from himself in true prissy fashion.

Negi did not expect any less for his transgression, as he pushed his glasses back up by its bridge to clear the previous enchantment. If anything, the young professor got off lightly, but he already expected to receive a reckoning in the future, unless he managed to correct the course of his game. The phrase, "No rest for the wicked," could not be more true.

"Good. Now, darling cousin, if you will excuse me, I have some reservations to go make."

"Reservations? For what?" just like that, with no more than a change of topic, the magistra magi was right back in top form. Spooks were such simple creatures, so easy to please.

"Though most of the student body left, along with a fair number of our faculty, there still remains a healthy flock to tend to... There is a Christmas Party and a New Years celebration coming up, and the planners like to have a general idea of how many attendees will be coming, so they can prepare accordingly. I thought you would like to come with me."

For the umpteenth time, Anastasia found herself flushing red, much to her exponential ire. It was frustrating, so very frustrating, to be at the mercy of his every whim. The Agent of The Clocktower had no control, like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole only to land at the mad, very mad table of the Mad Hatter. Always she was being yanked to and fro, as if by some invisible golden chain on a equally garish, studded collar around her neck.

If she did not know any better, the redhead swore he was corrupting her by his very presence, driving her mad, just like him. Anastasia wanted to scream at the atrocious bespectacled madman, and she would, right now, as she damn well pleased. "You...! YOU. You awful, rotten punk! Th, the nerve! _Arrrghhh_! Oh, the nerve! Just what goes on in that **onion **head of yours, huh? Who do you think you are, Negi Springfield?"

In the haze of reckless passion, Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova scarcely noticed she had flown across the living room in a whirlwind of red hair and white lace, determined to bar his escape towards the apartment's entrance door with her very own body. Each furious word she had spoken, punctuated by a sharp accusatory finger jabbing at the unrepentant noble's face. Never mind she did not have a chance of touching him, unless she used a slingshot to hurl a stone into his eye like David against Goliath before her.

Doctor N. Springfield's reply was as endearing as ever.

"'_He who would fight with monsters should take heart lest he thereby become a monster himself_,' paraphrased from Nietzsche's _Beyond Good and Evil_, Aphorism One-Forty-Six."

Meaning he succeeded in utterly befuddling the hell out of her even more, by grasping Anastasia's outstretched hand, with unexpected tenderness, and leaning in close to place a kiss on her knuckles.

"_Hweeehh_! Wh, what the-HEY!"

The deed done, the Doctor perished the thought and left, leaving his apoplectic "cousin" in shock, though for a moment there, he really did seem the part of an English Gentleman, no?

* * *

Some days later, the very same increasingly maddened girl found herself repeating the proverbs her father taught her, like a mantra of protection against evil. Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova still could not believe she would play party to a harebrained scheme by Negi Springfield. Could this be divine punishment, no, the work of demons for her goading the rotten boy to move his haunches on the outstanding issue of Konoka Konoemon's security details at long last? She had only tempted the wisdom of "There was - there wasn't." in the dim hopes of being on the offensive for a change, not to mention gathering critical intelligence on her target's magical aptitude.

Frankly, Anastasia had been very disappointed to observe that he seemingly shunned sorcery in his every day living, a tool set Negi left at home, perhaps, under tight lock and key. He worked diligently, a workaholic in fact, laboring tirelessly to solve human problems with human methods. The professor visited the gym at least three times week to maintain his physical condition in a grueling regimen, aided further by a sensible diet. Indeed, his conduct, much to her grudging respect, was professional beyond word, never favoring but fair to all, and he still found time to unwind after a long day.

The Russian made a face, shadows playing off her cute countenance from the afterglow of her crystal orb. She did not want to admit it, like many matters that concerned her target, but those trussed up trollops in his classes were correct to presume after all that he was some foul manner of superhuman creature. Why The Onion had taken her ruse and made it into an opportunity of his own, while commiserating gaily that he thought she would never ask.

Negi professed he never made a move on the issue out of reluctance to ask her permission to use sorcery. From the first day, he always had the impression that the dean would overlook his methodology so long as it was not invasive upon the privacy of the Kyoto Magic Association's darling princess. Hence, the professor had been using roundabout methods to inquire on her lifestyle, character, and relative happiness from various secondhand sources, while influencing the ever volatile Asuna Kagurazaka to become _just _a little more protective of her roommate.

It was dangerous work, eavesdropping that is, but he had managed to acquire a line of secure information from 2-A's resident rumormonger, so as to avoid rousing too much suspicion in regards of his intentions. Turns out Kazumi Asakura was a literal gold mine of various going-ons, amongst her classmates, and had quite an impressive backlog worth of data built up over the years. Excellent record keeping aside, it was not to be the start of a pleasant relationship: the little minx had tried to con him, but The Doctor did not come unprepared to persuade the rapacious to consider a more-_mutual _understanding.

Amateur. She has some talent, but Asakura-kun still has a long ways to go, thought Negi with a nostalgic sigh into the wintry air.

Presently, he was waiting by a closed water fountain at a popular idyllic park in the district, made all the more pleasant by the absence of the rowdy youths who normally prowled these evergreen grounds. How they would come to expel their boundless noise and energy seeking potential mates, or simply expend that vital force to past the time in the company of friends. In the former group, most of those naive fools pitifully enough would have benefited greatly with a simple reconditioning into the mind set of a patient hunter.

Hunting; yes, it could be said that Negi was hunting a person, an outrageous analogy some might say, but it was the truth. He had been observing his prey now for the better of some months, learning her mannerisms, her likes and dislikes, her social capability as a human, and he found her wanting.

Setsuna Sakurazaki was a creature of habit and rigid in her thinking, her potential stunted by her own willful ignorance, a poor combination if any, and today, she would have her reckoning with him. The Doctor had set the time and place, the advantage was in his favor. Certainly, it was not his intention to make war, but after much analysis of the facts, Negi deduced that the sharp-eyed bodyguard girl would not submit to his authority without a contest of valor.

Of course, he did not have a clue to the measure of her true capabilities, but judging from his own observations and glowing eyewitness accounts from her activities in the Kendo Club, Sakurazaki was a fine swordswoman in an era where swords had lost their meaning. Coupled with the footage The Doctor had managed to glean from _The Society_'s archives of adepts of the Shinmei Ryu in action, the prospect of having to fight with one arm tied behind his back did not bode well for victory in his favor. As for the reason of his handicap, the world need to look no further than Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova.

In the gently trembling city, there could be none other who could be the bane of his existence, but also very necessary. The Clocktower's agent reminded him on a daily basis that knowledge was power, and he did his best to guard it. Only with many a regret did the professor reveal his prowess in sorcery, demonstrating his creativity too in creating a truly infernal welcoming mat, while Anastasia handled the issue of operational security.

The moment Sakurazaki arrived, the entire park would be temporally displaced, allowing any flagrant action to take place without restraint. It was a wonderful stage for a battle this fine winter's afternoon, yet at the mere sight of the raven-haired bodyguard's cautious approach, Negi could not help but bemoan the fact that all he had on his person was his wand. Tucked away inside his fur-trimmed coat, it was a proud thing of beauty made of elder wood, eight inches long, and a core of Dragon heartstring, nimble and eager, whom meshed with him quite well.

It required a name still, and the professor would hate to see his dear wand smashed by one callous swipe of that Japanese longsword her ladyship's bodyguard preferred, though to be frank, he thought it a ridiculous weapon to carry in defense of one's charge. The uchigatana or standard fare katana was by far superior, especially in close quarters combat or a surprise attack. If she took her duties as seriously as he surmised, than the thought must have occurred to her at some point.

So why was it she persisted? Well, Negi thought he would find all in good time. At the moment, he was pleasantly surprised Setsuna Sakurazaki had come visibly unarmed, save for a utilitarian satchel, and a guarded blush of embarrassment. The professor could almost believe she was an ordinary, if highstrung junior-high schoolgirl.

"_Sensei_, I must say so," there began her beatific formality, so humble and adult-like, which destroyed any hope of such a delusion, "that I find this a most unusual request, begging your pardon."

"Is that so?" Negi murmured gauging the distance separating the two of them, which turned out to be roughly less than two meters. Talk about feisty; even in a social circumstance, she positioned herself within optimal striking range of her favored blade. It went to show just how uncomfortable Setsuna was about acknowledging his cordial summons. "Us two being masters of the sense of distance, I thought such a request, quite ordinary really."

"The sense of distance?"

"That is correct. Worrying about misunderstandings when you are near and far, but because we are apart humans can understand each other! Indeed, the sense of distance can be said to be one of the foundations in a relationship between all humans! ...so says what I read last night in a sociology journal."

"Ah... I... see..." Sestuna's difficult admission said it all.

Negi raised an eyebrow, and spoke dryly for her benefit, "Do not be shy, now. You are free to say it is a load of rutting bollocks."

Politeness being oh-so-important in the stuffy norms of Japanese society, the bodyguard girl predictably colored at his impropriety, evidence that she needed more bosom friends in his opinion. In fact, her apoplectic reaction just now confirmed Setsuna's largely solitary nature, guilty as charged. Was she apathetic towards people, or simply had difficulty learning to get along? Mayhap, she had not found any stimulating company that struck her fancy?

"S, Springfield-sensei, I meant-mean no such disrespect!" protested the bodyguard hurriedly.

Ah, what a cute~ reaction. Who knew even a straight laced Bushido-wannabe girl could be fine, too? These Japanese girls were such fine specimens for his amusement. Negi almost laughed, barely beating down his baser impulses with repeated violent swings of his metaphorical crowbar. "Relax, Sakurazaki-kun. Relax. As you can imagine, I have a sense of sarcasm, and with some practice, I think we could make an excellent _manzai _comedy duo. Whad'dya say? Wanna go inta show biz wit' me, pard'ner?"

The comical way Setsuna quailed at an impasse showed just how socially inept she was, out of her element, and without a prayer in the world to save her. In the selfish, glamorous culture of the world's elite society, she would have failed right there as a bodyguard, inexcusably embarrassing her employer by losing her bearing. Even if Setsuna was horrible at social affairs, then at the very least she should be as immovable as a mountain.

Doctor N. Springfield, naturally, could give less than a rat's bollocks for such conventions. He liked her enough already; the only thing that needed work was a reeducation in her choice of armament. "Sorry, sorry. Do not take everything I say at face value. I have a horrible habit of teasing individuals palatable to my savvy personality, you see?"

"A, ah... Is that so, _sensei_?" Setsuna still did not have a clue what to do next. She had not been expecting a social call, after all, since the language worded in the young professor's message had been business-like. Frankly, she was surprised he even knew she opted to stay over on campus for winter break. So just what did her illustrious, popular teacher want with her?

"_Hnnn_. Now we have that out of the way, would you be willing to walk with me, Sakurazaki Setsuna-kun?"

"Walk with you?"

"I did not mean to mislead you with the venue, but I do have some important matters to discuss with you."

Oh, so it was not a social call. What a relief! thought Setsuna, obliging the boy professor's request, without hesitation. ...although she felt somewhat disappointed, strangely.

During class, at least in her opinion anyhow, Springfield-sensei always seemed to add a little extra insight pertinent to her benefit, whenever she volunteered or was "voluntold" invariably. Not that she was special, as he offered the same service to her classmates, but it was certainly a refreshing change from Takahata-sensei's tutelage where he took a largely hands-off approach. The young man, in comparison, really seemed to understand his students, a quality of leadership and empathy she could respect-w, well, in anyone, really.

Of course, it was still too soon to sign off her blessings on his possible engagement to her mistress just yet, but by far and large, Negi Springfield seemed to be the best candidate for husband to-be. Together, Setsuna could see the couple continue the present golden age of peace amongst the Japanese magic associations, brokered by Konoemon-sama not too long ago. As for herself...

"Tell me, Sakurazaki-kun, where do you see yourself in ten years?" Negi's droll tenor called back to her suddenly, breaking the spell of the reverie. "Twenty years? or even thirty years from now? What do you think?"

My, what a-coincidence. It had to be a coincidence, right? There was no way her homeroom teacher could be something like a _satori_.

"Oh, you do not have to be dreadfully serious about it. Just think of my question as an exercise in creative thinking, yes?"

"I..." Setsuna bit the inside of her lip in consternation. To be frank, it was a topic she had avoided habitually in her meditations. "I don't know."

"Is that what your instincts tell you?"

"...N, no, _sensei_."

"Ah, sorry, and here I said not to take it dreadfully serious but we are anyway. _Heh_. Fancy that, huh?"

Negi chuckled, continuing to string the bodyguard along the cobbled path, snaking through the rustling trees. Privately, however, he bemoaned the inconvenience of speaking to someone who walked behind him, instead of beside him! Goodness, how old fashioned and stuffy these Japanese can be; the professor swore that aside from "upping" her arsenal, he would fix her sense of self-worth too.

"In that case, Sakurazaki-kun, consider this a koan instead, how much potential do you think you have?"

"Potential? Me?" she spoke the word with a reluctant disbelief. "..._Sensei_, I beg your pardon, but you're just-kidding around, right?"

Right, her humble deference was starting to irritate the hell out of him. Their stroll and now this? Oh yes, The Doctor could barely contain his eagerness at the upcoming renovation of Setsuna Sakurazaki. "I for one think it will be a waste for you to dedicate your entire existence to one person. I understand well that not all of us are meant to be leaders. Some are born to follow, even, but if that is so, should you not follow the dream that burns most brilliantly in the starry night?"

The stuttering scuff in her stride was like music to his ears, and before the sharp-eyed girl had a chance to get a word in edgewise, he exploited the opening with a metaphorical curb stomp.

"If you do not understand, then allow me to illuminate you thus: your perception of the world is too small, too narrow minded, is what I mean. I have met people bound by the inescapable fate of greatness many a time, wherefore great expectations come part and parcel with the silver spoon, but many others still are free to make our own luck, our own destiny, no matter the circumstances we were born into... The former have no such privilege. Indeed, all too often when they choose to reject and flee from their greatness, it only invites calamity."

The crisp, wintry air turned stagnant with cold steel. He might have only been discoursing in existential philosophy at a glance, but clearly, like a seasoned bloodhound, she had already seen through the veil of his words to the truth underneath.

"Valor and wisdom cannot be given, it must be earned. We carefree rogues may walk beside them to help lighten the load, but sometimes... Even us, commoners, become nothing more than a hindrance, stunting their growth."

Her footsteps were quickening, but as to not arouse alarm, Negi merely lengthened his stride to beat the pace. Their final destination was coming into sight, a gazebo topped with a fanciful weather vane of a crane, wings outstretched in flight. The wind was blowing, spinning it about chaotically, as if hinting at the precipice he had set foot upon.

"I would hope your strength exists to protect others, but it can also deprive others of courage, make them weak-hearted and servile to you. The yojimbo, I believe, is more than a weapon, but also a companion, we mustn't fight all the battles of our masters lest they become complacent that swords are the first answer to adversity. To be unsheathed lightly and thought of as no more than a murdering tool is, perhaps, the worst fate of a sword."

He made it, just in the nick of time to the foot of the gazebo, and whirled about face sharply, a hand over his heart and the other flourishing outboard, as if he were an actor on stage, pleading his innocence. Try as she might to resist his bittersweet poison, it was not without its noble truths, and so, Setsuna Sakurazaki hesitated.

"Wh, what are you trying to say? I... I don't understand..."

The Doctor smiled suavely, as befits a devil's advocate. There the bodyguard stood poised, approximately two meters away; what a wonderfully consistent creature she was, he would enjoy honing her edge into a mirror finish that would do his reflection proud.

"Do not reject yourself, girl; when you have dreams and courage, even a sword can become a human being. You have someone you wish to protect, I am aware, but all of us have our own paths to walk, including you. Weapons can be left to rust, discarded when their usefulness has come to an end, but true friends will always be treasured, even when it comes time to part. There are only things you can achieve, Sakurazaki Setsuna, and the sword of justice in your heart should not be squandered selfishly, but shine as a beacon of good for all."

The unseen wave of thorny steel piercing, slicing into his ego, was quite painful really, though nothing some quality time toying with his favorite persons could not fix. In the mean time, Negi did his best impression of a bulwark. He gave a cursory glance at the Eldritch spectrum in his A.R. feeds, confirming the background presence of a temporal displacement field, before switching to biometrics: elevated body temperature on his subject of interest, a pronounced decrease in heart rate. The technology helped certainly, but he would have to be blind, not to see the consequences coming.

Hell, the professor had been cultivating the build up for this very climax!

"I have had enough of your trash wanton rhetoric," Setsuna exclaimed hotly in cultured vernacular, quite admirable of her really. He had been expecting something far cruder. "Draw!"

How very noble of her to give him the heads up on a surprise attack, as The Doctor watched with breathless excitement, fueled by adrenaline. Time seemed to be of no value in the instant she stepped forwards first, svelte limbs moving in almost clockwork perfection. Her hand slipped into the satchel serpentine-like to fish out an elegant wakizashi, its black lacquered scabbard lent a most fascinating glimmer to the flash of silvery polished steel.

There was a battle cry at her lips, fierce and valiant, sending electric chills up his spine that made his smile widen into a gleeful smirk. Her bravery should be commended, but the only just dessert for foolishness was defeat, for the professor had not been idle, a similar serpentine flick of his own wrist brandished his wand into broad daylight. Resting previously in the fold of his sleeve over his heart, he, too, now brought the instrument of his castigation to bear, relishing the stark flicker of dreadful recognition in the bodyguard's piercing gaze.

In this contest of speed, the victor was already decided many a breath ago, because Doctor N. Springfield had already been at half-drawn from the start.

"_Expelliarmus_!" he declared, opening the flood gates of quintessence in his body to a roaring climax.

His aim true, his purpose pure; Setsuna had no chance to escape having already committed herself in full. Near simultaneously, twin bolts of blue light leapt in an instant from the tip of the wand, in spite of the seemingly singular incantation. How could this be? Western mages should not be able to-! Despair blossomed in the girl's eyes, as she desperately willed the honed muscles in her to move even one second faster, even though in the heart of her hearts, the bodyguard knew her fate was sealed.

The first impact met with a wrenching slap, disarming her of the wakizashi. The second impact struck her dead on in the guts, knocking the wind out of her, as she was carried cleanly back through the air. Through the cringing haze of pain and disappointment, air kissing at her ears, Setsuna could only curse herself at her naivety, praying silently for forgiveness in failing her duty.

"_Sei Initium_!" Negi's symphony was far from over.

With another flourish, his main course sprang to life in array of electric blue arcane circles, swinging shut the jaws of Pandora's Box. Mercifully, tangible tendrils of light sprang forth from the walls in a near incomprehensible whipping mass that arrested the bodyguard's careening flight gently. It was the classic "Flytrap Spell", invented by a magus from Florence in the Renaissance; still popular today as a mid-level "Trap-type" spell.

The spell had some flaws, for example, it would bleed mana while waiting for a potential victim to step into its embrace, reducing its potency in the long term. To make up for that particular shortcoming, he had taken the heavy handed approach of overkill and added a measure of control, by modifying the activation protocols to "on command", so as to ensure his success. Suffice to say, The Doctor's gross overestimation appeared to have paid dividends.

The dutiful bodyguard was bound and brought to heel at her knees, helpless to his leisure. She could not muster possibly even an iota of magical potency, with six flytraps grounding her. Nevertheless, the fire of defiance had not gone out from those sharp eyes, as she struggled mightily in vain against the tendrils, sending electric shivers of feedback to him, an exhilarating stimulus Negi would never tire to experience.

But enough savoring the fruits of his labor, time to collect on what he was due, "My goodness gracious, it appears I have won the test of wisdom, courage, and arms with no contest, yes?"

"_K_, _Kiisama_! Filth! Coward! Dog of the West!" Setsuna exclaimed angrily, still not resorting to baser pejoratives. Well, except for "kiisama", it was one of the higher expletives available in the Japanese arsenal, but the value of which was largely lost on the professor. In fact, he considered himself quite honorable, thank you very much. "Face me in single open combat. I dare you!"

"Oh, no, no, no, no! I am afraid I sorely overestimated you, my dear, and I must revise my expectations. Now, it appears plain to me that a true contest of arms would become a macabre festival of blood should I employ the full fusillade of assets at my disposal. Your lack of wisdom is your worst enemy, and courage without wisdom is no more than a blowhard's hot air. _Hmph_... Immature, so very immature; you still have much to learn in the Way of the Warrior."

"_Rrrrghh_! D, Damn you!"

Oh, finally, breaking out the dirty guns was she? thought Negi wryly, as he gestured admonishingly with his free hand. "Now, now, is that any way to speak to your new colleague?"

The princess's bodyguard shot him a livid incredulous look that spoke volumes of her thoughts on his statement, much to the professor's private chagrin. It appears a gross misunderstand just occurred, one he managed to come out on top. See, instead of her being honor bound to test his abilities or some such, Sakurazaki had actually been serious about harming his honorable person, and The Doctor knew exactly whom to lay the blame on.

"I presume the old bloody raccoon did not inform you of my true nature, yes? _Figures_. Well, now you know and knowing is half the battle, Sakurazaki Setsuna-_san_, because for the foreseeable future, I will be joining Konoka-hime's security detail here at Mahora alongside yourself. I hope we can learn to get along as friends and comrades, so that the Kyoto Magic Association's princess can live happily ever after, and when the curtain calls on our roles, who knows? I might just have a job offer for you, eh?"

Setsuna Sakurazaki gaped at him, dumbfounded, all her righteous fury forgotten with the bombshell of a revelation now in her lap.

"Say, do you think you can find it in your golden heart not to try and strangle me, after I set you free, Sakurazaki? I find being able to affect regular breathing to be most conducive to carrying out a proper apology for a lamentable misunderstanding."

And eavesdropping on the curious scene from a secluded vantage nearby, Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova could not believe she was witnessing Negi Springfield apologize so earnestly for utterly handing someone's bullocks to them on a silver platter. The Russian would have laughed, except the service in humility was not being dedicated to her. That backwater barbarian of a bodyguard did not deserve even an ounce of such good manners and custom, none of which she had earned the privilege to be showered upon by the bane of Anastasia's existence!

Y, yes, Negi's white chocolate, strawberry mouse parfait had been-agreeable, if a little sinful, but it did not come close to him repaying all of his debts to her. Oh no! Why, one of these days, the stewing redhead swore she would see the incorrigible bastard driven before her on his hands and knees, like a stray dog, begging for her forgiveness that he did not deserve. It was not as if Anastasia was jealous in the slightest that once again her nemesis was treating another girl better than her!

_Stupid onion_.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Wow, it feels like its been forever. This sure took a while, but it's also long as hell, so I guess we can think of it as an unexpected bonus for y'all continued interest in this gig. Though I think I've exhausted my aside quota, so let's get back to the madness with the next chapter.

By and by, disturbing trend, the number of females who want to do something awful and-or not so awful to The Doctor has risen to five or so now, maybe?

Satori, a type of "monster" native to Japan that is said to be capable of reading the "heart" of others.

"The Shiny Death Glasses" technique. See: Shiny Scary Glasses.

Uchigatana, a type of Japanese sword created during the Muromachi Period, and the predecessor to the iconic katana. Developed to replace the traditional cavalry sword called the tachi, it is a sword that specializes in smooth, lightning-fast draws, and thanks to its shorter length, could be employed effectively still in more confined quarters or on foot. The most noticeable difference arguably between uchigatana and katana is that the former sport a more exaggerated curvature when compared to the katana, which hints to its origin as a cavalry sword. Thus, it does have some shortcomings when employed in thrusts and slashes, post-fast draw, not having the same reach as the contemporary katana.

Manzai, a style of Japanese stand-up comedy involving two comedians, a straight man (tsukkomi) and a funny man (boke), whom exchange jokes back forth similarly to a Western buddy cop drama.

Laters.


	8. Chapter 8

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. Some srs business up ahead, and a really long chapter, so I hope it was worth the wait.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 08:

No Time for Old Men

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

In the dying embers of his venerable years, Konoemon Konoe found himself one eve's twilight commiserating over his lack of time, an increasingly frequent topic as the perpetual engine's gears eroded away his withered, battle scared frame. He could not agree more with the Meorvingian, "Who has time? Who has time? But then if we do not ever take time, how can we ever have time?", and regret his selflessness. As always, it seemed to be the curse of mortals to realize their shortsighted-ness, when they became unwitting victims of the recurring cycle of history.

When his granddaughter had been born, the old hoary mage thought he could finally ride out into the sunset, beyond the horizon, to be with his friends and loves long past, at last. Oh, how his expectation could not be more wrong. As a member of the Konoe family, descendants of the Fujiwara clan, one of the five regent houses, whom exclusively provided the imperial family with brides from the 8th through 19th century, Konoemon should have known better that calamity was in his blood.

Konoka had been born under a most auspicious star and hailed to much fanfare and celebration, as herald of a new era of peace and prosperity to be found in the Rising East. Alas, such halcyon days were not meant to last, for not long after her birth, the golden child's mother fell prey to illness. Many at first, including himself, thought it to be the result of unexpected complications from childbirth, and so the best doctors and "specialists" were called in to investigate. The findings were ominous. The best and brightest from all sides of the aisles could not determine the root cause, even when the symptoms were wrenching real.

The esteemed mistress of the Kantou Magic Association, his beloved daughter was deteriorating, forcing Konoemon to put any glimmer of a happy retirement on permanent hold. With the failure of the healers, it did not take long for the sharks to smell blood in the water, fear and suspicion spread through the ranks from the disparate groups, for man was a political animal, always seeking to better his position. Soon enough word of conspiracy and perfidy reached his ears, as such that Konoemon could not help but agree with his son-in-law that it was high time for Konoka to leave the old capital.

It was an unpopular decision, fueled by exacerbation at another sore spot: the refusal to indoctrinate Konoka in the old ways. Word had been spread that the child did not possess an ounce of magical talent, much to the dismay of the onmyoudo factions whose standing had suffered as of late, but the warriors cabals, traditionally the foot soldiers of the associations were all too happy to exploit a potential opportunity to boost their prestige. They had curried much favor with Eishun, having come from the same roots, and thought to repeat the same feat through "The Golden Child".

Suffice to say, they were quite irate when informed that she would not walk the path of the warrior, either. For those in the know, which Konoemon could count off one hand, the decree had been a total lie, another meticulous cover up, orchestrated by himself and his son-in-law. How unfortunate that a lot of aspiring young people would be on vacation for the rest of their lives, but it was a better alternative than the bone chilling truth. Categorizing his granddaughter by today's post-modernist sensibilities, Konoka Konoe would be best described as: a "Person of Walking Mass Destruction", abbreviated P-WMD.

Truly, the eight million gods of Japan had a horrible sense of timekeeping to send a child of the great august _kami_ who shines in the heavens to descend now upon the weary, scorched earth. Should not the "First in Charge of Divine Affairs" have informed everyone particularly important that the hangover party from the time of legends was long over, and humanity could do without another so-called demi deity, even if Konoka happened to be genuine article? Human beings can get along just fine with killing each other, trying to dominate one another, without resorting to cheating using divine intervention, thank you very much.

Being a perniciously devious intellectual at heart, Konoemon knew just a mere lie of convenience would not suffice. Oh no, he had to back their pretty words with verisimilitude, and had thus embarked on a secret project with a team of his most trusted associates. The old onmyouji devised a system of seals, based upon the Four Heavenly Kings, who were said to ward off evil, guard the nation of Japan, and protect the world of the living from malicious spirits. All but invisible, and best of all noninvasive, the procedure effectively sealed away Konoka's divinity.

However, they were not infallible. Eishun had protested strongly against incorporating failsafe mechanisms in the array to prevent tampering by malign elements. His reasoning being that should Konoka fall into such despicable hands, the only thing that would guarantee her life was her continued usefulness. By themselves alone, the seals should be able to delay the rogues long enough for the association to execute a comparable response.

Konoemon, in the darkest recesses of his cold logic, divined otherwise that his son-in-law wished that the girl would have a means of defending herself should the worst come to past. It was simply too much power, too much responsibility for one child to burden all by herself. If he had been younger, the wizened mage might have a sought a different path, but such doors were long since closed in his old age.

Sighing, the weight of the world on his bony shoulders, the old mountain leaned forwards and steepled his arms upon the bureau, as if beseeching some power in humble entreaty. To Konoemon's private dismay, even the fine furniture, younger than himself, creaked under the burden of his presence. If he could not even rely on his own desk, than he doubted strongly the bespectacled gentleman in his secured sanctum, lighting up a smoke, could offer any relief to his pain.

Oh no, Takamichi T. Takahata, soon to be formerly of the English department, had come for confession himself.

Konoemon spoke first as was customary, and allowed himself just to be himself for a little while, "You know what? I don't particularly relish politicking and mind games anymore, Takahata-kun, because this young punk... You know who he reminds me of? _**That **_Nagi, but a hundred, no, a **thousand** times worse. Ha, you could call him the Ten~ Thou~sand Master, or Millennial Master, some rubbish like that, oh ho ho ho!"

"I don't think the world could survive an ego of that magnitude, Konoemon-dono," Takahata chuckled wryly from his perch by the dignified grandfather clock, a classical piece the headmaster had acquired some decades ago.

"But still...! All of my fun, ruined. Why, I nearly had a heart~ attack on the first day we met face to face, thought that louse was having a second coming like Jesus of Nazareth, Son of God, and all that hash."

"You and me both, sir. You and me both; in spite of all his rough edges, Nagi was a good manchild at heart. This boy, Negi... Tsk, tsk, tsk. _Scary_. Very _scary_. ...I really hope it's just a fluke, a damn coincidence they look so alike and even share the same surname. Hell, it must be _hitsuzen _screwing around with us that a kid would appear out of nowhere, six years later, with the same horrible naming sense given to Nagi's son."

"But it can't be, can't be. His son would be ten years old at best, docile and eager to follow in the shadow of his betters. What we have here is a fourteen-year-old wild bronco, resolute, capable, and smart as hell to boot."

"He does seem to evoke the spitting image of a mythical American cowboy riding into town atop of a mustang, isn't he? Dashing. Roguish. But under all that pretense, some ridiculous warrior scholar."

"Takahata-kun, don't you have your analogies crossed? He's an English Gentleman, not a rough and rowdy yank. And what does our resident undisputed, Number One _Thousand Master _fan think of him, anyway?"

"_Fu_, that's a good one," Takahata shrugged, before taking another long drag from the cancer stick. "...I haven't been able to find Eva-san since he debuted, and I hope you'll forgive me for daring not to find out why."

Konoemon snorted; he expected as much, "Take it from an old geezer, Takahata-kun, you'll be in my diapers one day, so I won't begrudge you for it."

"Please, don't remind me. I have been hearing rumors that the boy intends to rip me a new one, verbally, at some point, and I'm not looking forward to it. Let's face it, Konoemon-dono, I appreciate the job you gave me, but I'm a horrible educator. Mentoring I can do but teaching is a different skill set than what I was taught, and even with accumulative on the job training, I could never settle down into the mindset. First thing on my mind was always you-know-who, and unfortunately, I made the rest of Two-A suffer for my selfishness."

"Oh, don't beat yourself over it, Takahata-kun. That Negi's already done a splendid job cleaning up years of your doting neglect. In fact, he's improved all the classes he teaches a subject with across the board, and I dare say he has even made your very precious Asuna into a better student than ever. Her grades have picked up a lot. If he were to stay on her case for the next four years, I'd reckon the girl would have an excellent foundation to get into a reputable university. She might even have a chance to lead a normal life without any serious complications."

"I can only hope for so much..." the beginnings of the bespectacled man's smile, abruptly, fell into a ornery frown. "...But."

Konoemon knew that look, had seen it many times on his own face, and he would be damned if he let the fool fall through the slurry now. "Takamichi, remember: we're both sinners. I gave you and your charge asylum because we have the same circumstances. Don't go doubting yourself now."

"...Yes, Konoemon-dono, but that boy..." another long, calming drag, but it did not fool the perceptive old man from the subtle tremble in Takahata's lips. He needed reassuring badly, it seemed. "If he stays after graduation, it could lead to...complications."

"I have done some digging around on Negi Springfield. Disturbingly, the boy is a clean slate, but he also represents an opportunity to us. Someone with rights to the title of the Blue Knight Earl is nothing to laugh at, and would make London think twice in interfering in our affairs."

"You mean to bring him into our circle?" Takahata turned to fix him with a raised brow, and Konoemon winked right back.

"It is not a decision I consider lightly, but we're not getting any younger, Takamichi," again he addressed the former by his first name, hoping to soothe some cold rational back into the much famed "Death Glasses Takahata". "My son-in-law is too influenced by Nagi, honor before reason, and all that rubbish. The only thing we have managed to agree upon in recent years is Konoka-chan's welfare! Ugh... I require a regent, an executor who can carry out my will, and I think Negi Springfield, Heir to the Earl of Ibrasel, can be trusted to be that person. He is... **Different**."

A long pause passed, the younger man digesting his elder's proposition, tasting it upon his lips. It was not bad but it was not good either. "I think it is wishful thinking to place our hopes on an unknown factor like him, better to give him his certification and be done with it."

"Takamichi," Konoemon persisted, determined to win the contest of wills. "If you had formally adopted Asuna, as I first recommended to you so long ago, we wouldn't need to be having this conversation now. You're not the man you used to be, face it, accept it, and your horrible smoking habit isn't doing wonders for your health. Lay off the cancer sticks."

"_Tsk_. I'm trying to quit, but it's not that easy."

"You're also not. God. Damn. Vandenburg, either."

"...that was uncalled for, Dean-dono," Takahata frowned at the Dean's deadpan declaration.

"My craggy ass it wasn't," Konoemon scoffed, scratching at his bald pate irritably. "I'm old; I'm hoary; I'm cranky; I'm entitled to it, so stop trying to act like Asuna's father, if-correction-when you didn't and still don't even have the balls to take responsibility in the first place!"

"..._tsk_."

Ugh. What a petulant child.

"Asuna stands a much better chance at living a normal, happy life should she be associated with, or under the protection of the Blue Knight Earl. Mages from East and West would have to be high as a kite to risk incurring **His **wrath. The old noble house of Ibrasel is said to be privy to magicks that still surpass many of the wondrous accomplishments the Wizarding World has achieved in the past two centuries alone. Not to mention, he IS right around her age. If it were possible, I would even have my own Konoka betrothed to him. ...unfortunately, that is not an option, since I'm trying to stop a war, not start one."

A petulant child perhaps, Takahata could on occasion display an unerring instinct for reading the flow, and he had just the bombshell to drop.

"How's Torahime-san?" he asked plainly, though the bespectacled gentleman might as well have shot his counterpart in the heart.

Konoemon frowned, a certain peculiar coloring his old eyes that some might identify as the thousand yard stare, "...Awful. They weren't kidding with the prognosis. It is a slow killer, a wasting disease. At least, I could be angry if it was disfiguring her somehow, but no~, she's still my sweet little Tora-chan, not a blemish or a mark on her. ...Just tired. Always tired. And the blackouts. Oh yes, the blackouts."

"Does Konoka-chan know?"

"Another kind lie. If she were in better health, my dear daughter, I suspect relations between myself and my son-in-law would be much better. Thankfully, I raised her well, couldn't ask for more in the girl really. Hell, even on her deathbed, she is easily more than half the man Eishun ever was, ha! ...oh, the misery of the elderly."

"...Her lieutenant, so I hear, is a capable individual," being far from a sadist, Takahata knew to back off before he wore out his welcome, even if his inquiry had been wholly innocent with no falsity.

"That he is!" and just as quickly as he deflated, Konoemon bounced back like a prize fighter from the ropes. "And without him, I'd be swamped up to my eyebrows in work. Though...I feel awful that he's still holding out a torch for her, and he does deserve better even now... If the times had been different, I wouldn't have minded-but duty calls."

Sensing another dip in the conversation, Takahata tried reeling the old raccoon back in with another change up, "Isn't he married and with children?"

"Oh yes Yes, he is! And quite happily too... But much like myself, you never forget your first true love. Ha, what wasted years; if only I was the man I am now back then, I could have made the impossible possible. Ho ho ho ho."

So much for that; the mood seemed to be growing more melancholy by the minute.

"Hnnn."

Then out of the clear blue, the Dean counterattacked! "Isn't it about time you settle down yourself, Taka~michi~?" I do happen to know a nice girl or five I could introduce you to..."

"_Ugh_," Takahata grimaced. It must have been too soon to think his patron down for the count, after all. "Can I take a rain check on that? Maybe another five years, Konoemon-dono?"

"Ho ho ho ho, _boy_, I could be dead tomorrow! Goodness, why must you be so difficult? Unless you have plans to undergo a life extending treatment, it's going to be straight downhill for you pretty soon, Takamichi. Face it, you're in the sunset of your years."

"_Hrrnghh_..."

"Oh, don't you start now. Look, why don't you begin with, say, try giving Shizuna-chan a chance? You two already have a good friendship going, so why not try testing the waters some, hmm?"

"There you go meddling with other people's affairs again, Konoemon-dono, and here I heard you saying that you didn't enjoy politicking and mind games anymore."

"And there you go ruining my good mood," Konoemon blew a raspberry at the younger man, just like a sulky child. "Horrible. Just **hor**-rrible, the whole lot of you young people. Can't you all see that I'm just a nice, harmless old geezer trying to give you a push in the right direction?"

Encouragement was it? thought Takahata, shaking his head wryly. Goodness, how hopeless they both were. "Heh. ...Very well, I'll give the Earl of Ibrasel's heir some thought. In fact, you may want to reconsider putting Konoka under his protection as well... I hear things are going pretty pear-shaped in Kyoto these days."

"I know, and it scares me to see all that my predecessors have created come crumbling down under my watch. Gods, I want out of this chair, but there's just nobody I can rely on anymore. It's too much for an old man like me, and mark my words, it's going to be the death of me. Believe it. **Count **on it."

"So... In Negi Springfield, Inglorious Basterd, we trust?"

"In Negi Springfield, Inglorious Basterd, we do **damn** right trust."

As an after thought, Takamichi T. Takahata could not help but put to pasture one last thought before the board.

"Do you think he'll ever forgive us?"

The soon-to-be dead old geezer answered him vehemently.

"Hell no."

**Amen**.

* * *

HACHOO! HACHOO! HACHOOIE!

"Tissue, Springfield-san?" a velvety voice offered him in the midst of his bout with dogged sternutation.

Doctor N. Springfield pawed earnestly for the act of mercy, but for the life of him seemed to be doing an excellent impression of lost in the sauce. His eyes watered and his nose ran, still he grabbed and crawled onwards into the hopeless darkness for the salvation of Kleenex; so heavenly, it felt good to feel. Setsuna, alas, had something of a lobotomized sense of humor, so she entirely failed to grasp the blackmail value of the moment.

He might not have been her favorite person in the world, but as her professional superior, she could not bare to see him in the dregs of such indignity for it reflected poorly on her too. In fact, the bodyguard was at her limit after just one minute of the pathetic sight, so unlike his usual ineffable demeanor. Laying hands on the hapless boy to assist, Setsuna reminded herself stoically there was no reason for her to be embarrassed with the act, considering the boy professor would not have expended the same sum of shame at all, given the circumstance.

Also, the flush of heat in her cheeks was just a figment of her imagination. In no way was she having vivid flashbacks to the New Years Eve Party where once more, Negi Springfield took her by the hand first to the dance floor. Such an awful habit, she might not know the customs of a formal ballroom dance, popularized in the West, but common sense induced that he should at least ask for her permission, instead of arbitrarily hiking her off like some rogue.

"Oh, thank-HABLOOIE!" Negi sneezed unabashedly, while Setsuna saw to his person with a wad of tissues. Some might have even thought the scene, warm and fuzzy, in spite of the raven-haired girl's obvious dutiful perplexion. "...Ugh, either this is a cold, _bleh_, or I am just virulently popular today, as if a mercurial plague, savvy like so. In fact, is there not a Japanese idiom concerning the subject?"

"Please, refrain from saying such things to tempt fate, Springfield-san," Setsuna sighed, her deed done, tucking away the refuse into a ziplock bag from her satchel, prepared for such an occasion. "I've already lost enough sleep tonight over your extravagances, when I could've been studying for finals."

They might have standing apart, but to be frank, she was positively suffocating in the cool, sultry evening air from the close proximity of his presence. The problem, bereft of his raiment as a teacher, the up-close and personal, one-hundred percent unadulterated Negi Springfield was a very different animal from the image of civilized man he projected. His coy, freewheeling nature was at odds in every way with her deeply ingrained propriety.

She swore he was a demon disguised in a boy's skin, sent specifically by whatever insidious power just to tempt her, testing the resolved loyalty she had honed over the years with his wily charms and magnanimous vision. And because of the gradual revelation of his true colors, Setsuna found herself having to revise her prospects of him. Negi Springfield, the wise beyond his years scoundrel, would make for a terrible husband to her mistress for he would corrupt her utterly so!

The bodyguard resolved to do everything in her power to prevent such an unholy union, including even sacrificing her own body if necessary. Yes, her body, as an offering to be ravaged so passionately, again and again, by the Inglorious Basterd Prince of-! Uhh...

"Oh, do not be such a spoil sport!" Negi scoffed at her, propping his glasses by the right hinge to activate his full blown teaching persona. "You have received the same privileged preparation as all of my remedial students, which I dare say is even better treatment than what I have offered at the recent string of mass study sessions. Learning, you see, is an accumulative process. Some have more capacity than others, and some less, but the key is repetition, just like the _kata _you drill into your juniors at the Kendo Club."

Setsuna colored, glad that her superior's uncanny intuition had not gleaned some hint to her-questionable-thoughts about his person. Perhaps, she had gotten a little bit carried away thanks to her present case of sleep deprivation; better to maneuver Mister Springfield away before he caught wind of any evidence. "It, it's just that..."

"Oh, what now? Are you afraid to disappoint me, my good colleague?"

"N, No! Of, of course not. A lot of my personal time got suc-... Um, invested into this studying rush, an, and I would hate to see the effort go to waste is all." I'm, I'm definitely not afraid of disappointing you, Negi Springfield!

Do ho ho ho, what a naughty, prudish girl. She almost said suck! Suck, I tell ye! Ha. How scan~dalous! ...I already want to trick her into doing it again, _later_, thought Negi with a wry chuckle. "That is a conveniently pragmatic way of looking at things for what they might be, and not what they are, Sakurazaki-kun."

The meat of his words, alas, went right over her head, the bodyguard sporting a spontaneous frown, "Sensei, could you...cut it out with the -kun? I understand the address's appropriateness when you are in an official capacity, but..."

"Selective hearing, I see. Very classical defensive tactic of you, Sakurazaki Setsuna."

His dry sarcasm, on the other hand, hit the nail right on the head, coloring it redder. "I... I beg your pardon?"

"_Huhuhuhu_. Nothing. Nothing at all," he chuckled, stepping out from underneath the archway into the free night air. "Pay me no heed, Sakurazaki."

It was late March of 2003, a customary time for finals in the Japanese education system, when Doctor N. Springfield had heard a most perishable rumor. Word said that at Mahora Academy's Library Island there existed a "magic book", which possessed the ability to boost fantastically enough the intellect of its reader. In public, Negi had denounced such frivolity and ordered his students, all of them report for a double duty at his daily cram sessions. He was not issuing any more homework besides Barney-style fill-in the blank study guides, so the venture was not terribly inconvenient for him.

The same reaction could not be said of all his students, some thinking it a mixed blessing, while others quailed in fear of death by power point. Still, most showed up as ordered, and the few that had the guts to shirk him were tracked down with contemptuous ease. Negi abstained from making an example of the rebels in a show of magnanimity, but he made sure to remind them in private he would not be so merciful the next time. As much as he championed the individuals, the professor was far from fond of slothful slobs, who were too lazy to put forward their best step.

Why just before coming out to Library Island for a merry scavenger hunt to release his accumulated stress, Doctor N. Springfield had been squaring off against the fearsome Baka Black, leader of the Baka Rangers. Yue Ayase, he swore, was a bloody blackhole of lassitude. If he were not there to light a fire under her buttocks constantly for the past six-odd months, Yue's own fuses would have burned out.

Now, to be fair, the girl was not apathetic, but there just were not a lot of incentives that provoked her passion. Unfortunately, one of those incentives as of late seemed to be his badgering presence. The Doctor needed a break from the vacuum sucking away at his own impetus, so on the spur of the moment, he decided to call up Kazumi Asakura for details on the "magic book". Treasure hunting had been one of the higher romances in his life for as long as he could remember, made only more fun with good companions.

Negi did not care if it was bogus, the adventurous experience in itself was the true reward for him. The Mahora News' top reporter, alas, had to apologize, for in spite of her eagerness to barter, she had no substantial product. In Kazumi's defense, it was something of a "nerdy" romance amongst the Library Investigation "department", so she always treated the matter with a grain of salt. Besides, she already placed in the top one-hundred percentile of the entire academic class of 2002, so a dubious magic book that could supposedly make her smarter was an unnecessary vanity.

The Doctor had to admit, his opinion of the aspiring amateur journalist rose a few points after the phone call, though he imagined, if he were anyone else, Kazumi would have bit his head off for calling so late in the evening. Undeterred by the prognosis, however, Negi set off quickly to summon the rest of his merry companions that very Saturday eve to begin the conquest of Library Island. Presently, it was roughly three in the morning of Sunday.

Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova reclined in her deck chair at the foot of a crumpled repository by the sand banks ringing the island, with a long-suffering frown on her pretty face, just as he remembered leaving her. Bundled up in a hooded windbreaker and pink sweats that suited his favorite image of her quite well, she looked quite comfortably, contrary the mocking breeze of the elements. The redhead had not been amused when he came banging at the door to her bedroom, and she still wore that baleful look in her eyes, willing him to go die in a fire and crap in his pants.

For Negi, dressed in casual clothes but prepared in all earnest for a tough scrap, decked out with gloves, kneepads, elbow pads, and a utility vest, her burning ire felt as pleasant as a hint of light rain. Though out of respect for the weather, he had worn a fur-trimmed parka to keep warm and-just in case, if things went south of the border. It might have been three in the morning, but he was still positively glowing, as if fresh from a warm shower, despite being caked in a fine layer of dust and moisture.

Setsuna Sakurazaki by far, looked the worst of wear, somehow having found herself volunteering to carry the better part of their equipment. She was functionally dressed in a tracksuit, but the slim, tubular carryall holding her prized nodachi had encumbered her quite a bit in their danger-filled adventures down below within the labyrinth of Library Island. Negi, to her silent awe, seemed to have a natural aptitude for the thankless grunt work, almost as if it were in his blood.

He had been responsible for saving their lives many a time and circumventing otherwise impassible riddles. Until tonight, Setsuna had not even been aware that there were so many different manner of booby trap to potentially ensnare a hapless victim. Right now, though, she wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep, forgetting that this midnight stroll ever occurred. What kind of mentally sick persons would incorporate booby traps and secret paths into a library anyways?

Anastasia had little sympathy for any devils, and was beyond caring. They had come this far, with herself sponsoring the endeavor after being harangued to her wits end by a sickeningly self-effacing Negi Springfield. It was so unnatural of him, the stuff of nightmares literally.

"Now, are you quite finished batting your eyelashes," she addressed his approach in disdain, rising from the deck chair, which collapsed back into sand in her wake, "and howling at the moon tonight yet, Stupid Onion?"

Negi enthusiasm was not so easily dimmed, "My darling cousin~! You missed out on the adventure, the excitement-"

"Is that the artefact?" Anastasia upturned her chin haughtily at the wrapped bundle tucked in the crook of his arm.

"Well, bah hambug to you, too, Miss Curious~ Scroogette."

His smile did not wane from the outset, inside the Doctor was reevualting his favorite poison chihuahua profile. The vagaries of her mood had become increasingly bipolar as of late, much to his concern. Though relations had thawed briefly following the New Years Eve party where Negi decided to right a few wrong, the short spring in the tundra betwixt them soon sealed itself up again. He had not been pressing the offensive as strongly these past months, so what on earth could be eating at her?

"Now before we commence the unveiling," the boy professor flourished the prized bundle for all to see, "I would like to thank the both of you for your participation for without your support this event would not be possible. In particular, I would like to laud your enthusiasm Miss Cocolova for signing off on the expedition, and you, Sakurazaki Setsuna-san, for being such a good sport."

The rare longsuffering look shared between Anastasia and Setsuna screamed, "Get on with it already, you git!", at least to him anyway.

Negi winced inwardly under the barrage. With their powers combined that actually managed to sting him. Yeowch. In another decade or so, the girls might succeed in raining on his parade... If that is the case, then it is just as they say, you don't know how good you have it, until its gone. The professor intended to savor every last drop of the good times, until he could drink no more.

"Ladies, I present to you... Goodness gracious, is THIS the legendary grimoire of Melusedek?"

Unfurled from the cloth bundle was a golden tome that took both himself and the magistra magi by complete surprise.

"The legendary grimoire of Melusedek!" Anastasia's shrill shriek echoed his brazen shout.

The only person who could not grasp the immense gravitas of their stellar circumstances, incidentally, was also the sole Eastern "mage" in the group. Setsuna, frankly, did not see what the big fuss was about over a golden trigonometry book.

"Um... I'm not following here."

"You nitwit!" Negi seethed in disbelief. "Melusedek is... Wait. Ah, ha... Yes. YES! Y~ES! It makes perfect sense now. This, obviously, must be the genuine article. Why else would whoever misplaced it on purpose setup so many defenses to deter potentially **aggressive **archaeologists?"

"Uh... I'm still lost, Springfield-sensei..." Setsuna drifted off as her stomach spoke earnestly in her place. She did not have a clue that she barely dodged a diabolical tongue lashing by the neurotic boy professor. "And I'm hungry..."

The value of his words, on the other hand, was not lost on the magistra magi. In fact, she was outraged by the implications, "What? Are you saying this is a fake? ...And after all that trouble **you **bungling idiots put me through?"

"Put _you _through? What trouble? We did all the hard work, my darling fancy pants cousin!"

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too times _ad nauseam_!"

"Oh, rut it," Negi pouted at Anastasia's sudden turn around in their childish spar. Contrary to his refreshing appearance, the hypothesis that the Grimoire of Melusedek he had acquired, turning out to be fake, had drain his inner flame quite a bit. "If you must insist then, would you~ like to open it?"

What happened next, thusly, was beyond his sanguine expectation.

"My pleasure; now, give me that, I'll show you-"

The Magistra Magi snatched the tentative tome out of his nerveless hands, far swifter than he thought her capable of, but then, the venom of exhaustion was finally poisoning his blood, with lethargy. Had Negi been in top form there was no way such an absurdity would have occurred, barring multiple incidences of Murphy's Law. Alas, it was happening, and for the life of him, he was just slow as molasses.

"Whoa, shi-HIT THE DECK!"

In hindsight, The Doctor would have preferred to do the bloody dashing feat that should have been lashing out with a savvy snap kick. A modicum of his strength would be sufficient to extricate the opening tome from the Russian girl's grasp, sending the wretched hoax skyward to explode like some forgotten firework. Instead, his personal operational risk management assessed the situation, and decided to take the easy way out, throwing himself bodily against a blissfully oblivious Setsuna Sakurazaki.

Thus, in a white conflagration of flash and acrid smoke, they fell onto the sandbank in a tangle of person, almost nose to nose right from the get go, earning a heated flush from the prudish bodyguard. The acuity of her faculties might have been impaired, but she was not absolutely hopeless. Alas, Negi had no time to waste, basking in the positive stimuli that one of his pet project was exhibiting. First and foremost, was his beloved poisonous pink polka dot chihuahua still in one piece?

"Ho ho ho ho, my youthful friends, you just got served," crowed a voice from amidst the dissipating pyrotechnics that he least wanted to hear, for it was damning evidence in service to his better instincts. "Your truly, The Dean."

Served him right for tricking Sakurazaki back a few months ago, the irony was oh-so bittersweet, but the black comedy was not finished just yet. The punch line rendered Doctor N. Spingfield speechless.

"Oh. My. Gawd! Who are you and what have you done to Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova?"

His favorite poison pink polka dot chihuahua sported a brand new-afro, one that looked just straight bloody bat out of hell wicked, or was that just an aura of flame...

"N-E-G-I S-P-R-I-N-G-F-I-E-L-D."

Oh, bollocks.

* * *

Finals came and went, and soon enough, the second biggest day of the academic school year reared its ugly head, the moment of truth. Unsurprisingly, it had been very awkward to explain his recent accumulation of injuries by way of him getting into a fight with the kitchen stove, lost, and got kicked down the elevator for his troubles by the heartless appliance. The alternative had been to confess that he had a domestic squabble, and since there was enough flammable, volatile gossip going around about his presence enough, Negi opted for the theatrically poignant lie.

The gossip, or at least to his wishful thinking, was in direct response to the fiascoes of Valentines and White Day. When it came to him, the girls in the school seemed to be especially impulsive creatures, and news of Anastasia's relation with their idol professor would have spread like wild fire. Preparing sixty odd gifts within a reasonable budgets for the female student population from the three sections Negi was responsible and a number of outliers was no small feat. He had been quite unprepared to have been gored in the side left for dead by the charging bull that was his glamorous popularity, having seen red on his first official Valentine's day at Mahora Academy.

The voracious girl children had assaulted him one after another, showing no shame whatsoever in attempting to outdo the previous paramour, all while the professor found himself swamped under a mounting pile of red wrapped chocolates. Naturally, they all claimed his hoard of red booty to be "obligation chocolate", which helped to ease the murderous, teary-eyed looks of envy some of his coworkers shot his way, something about the springtime of youth. And to put a final blackeye on the affair, the Russian appeared out of nowhere at dinnertime, after a misleadingly civil conversation, dunking a whole vat of chocolate milk right on top of him.

How she managed to execute the feat escaped the commiserating tumult of the Doctor's thoughts, his ego more concerned by a spark of epiphany revealing his imminent doom within thirty days, thanks to her intervention. The majority he dealt with en masse by dealing out the confections per class, the molds of the white chocolatey sins personalized to the individual recipients to the best of his knowledge of their character. It was grueling work, even with the two Sisters of Purgatory aiding Negi's efforts in secret. If he planned to survive the following academic year in a dignified condition, he would need much better planning and preparation.

Thus, the professor was glad that about the only persons who seemed to have behaved normally on Valentine's Day were Asuna Kagurazaka and the Kyoto princess' bodyguard. Kagurazaka, because the stubborn shrew came by his office to deposit a lump of coal, wrapped in a festive red Christmas-style stocking; quite clever of her, actually.

Doctor N. Springfield had barely managed to hold back the manic throes of a dastardly case of laughter upon receiving the snub.

His Asuna was becoming more sophisticated in their game, not to mention in her scholarly acumen. How surprised she might be, he wondered, if she were to discover some unexpected extra credit? _Heh_. She gave him coal and on White Day he returned the favor with a pristine messenger bicycle, much to Asuna's shock and awe. Let it not be said that he did not respect the travails of his "cute" enemies.

As for Setsuna Sakurazaki, Negi was at a profound loss for words at her shear disciplined modesty, though she failed miserably to hide her brush of color. Truth be told, the raven-haired bodyguard admitted reluctantly he would be the first person, period, to receive such a gift from herself; quite the honor. She did not have much confidence in the equally humble product, but felt the boy professor was entitled to the obligation of the season, so Setsuna had done her best. It was obligation chocolate for sure, low quality compared to the vaunted "true feelings choco", mostly bitter like dark chocolate, yet the hint of sweetness said plenty of her sentiments.

Doctor N. Springfield had to respect such earnest sincerity, unlike her classmates who say one thing but do another, so it was only fair that his generosity speak for himself. The relationship between he and Sakurazaki was still a diamond in the rough that had many more imperfections to be rectified. Thus, Negi ordered a long roll of fine silk, colored in shades of blue with a floral and river motif, to be delivered to her dorm room in secret, ready to be cut into a kimono of her choice, but an unfinished product in its present form. The expense and meaning of such a gift, suffice to say, was not lost on Setsuna, who wore a most profoundly bewildered look on her pretty face afterward.

Alas, his gesture may have raised more questions than gave her answers to the capricious enigma that was himself, a most adorable outcome that Negi relished. Regretfully, he would have to say goodbye to such fine sport, if he decided to leave Mahora Academy.

Negi frowned inwardly, making a show pushing up his glasses by the bridge, for the fair number of excited students milling about the spacious lobby of the primary school building. In a few moments, the second year's class grade ranking announcement would commence, broadcast campus wide on a number of different formats. The manner available here was somewhat quaint: a projector and an enthusiastic announcer, who was picked for her radiant exuberance in spite of the banal venue.

To be frank, the eccentric professor was still keen on quitting his post here at Mahora Academy, even if the locale provided a yet to be exhausted guilty pleasure for his sweet tooth. Being an educator surrounded in rambunctious hormones and fluttering skirts was nice, but should a person of his caliber really be here, especially after all of his experiences? The logical conclusion was obvious.

No. Absolutely not. If the Doctor happened to have a newly acquired taste for teaching, he should dedicate his efforts to those who required his existence desperately, because with or without him, the difference here at Mahora Academy was a mere appreciation of plus or minus twenty percent on the effort scale. Nothing would change in a mature society like the Japanese that settled down for better or worse, but in a developing society in the so-called "Third World", his exploits could bring to fruition sweeping changes.

Of course, education was just but one pillar in social theory, creating the proper convivial environment was of utmost importance too, and Doctor N. Springfield was a Renaissance man of many talents. So, what was there to keep him here then at Mahora Academy that he would be willing squander his precious time upon? The more he thought on the matter, the more he recalled his anger at being sent away on such a frivolous test.

Indeed, his relationships here were matters of duty. Assets that needed to be cultivated with care and empathy, winning hearts and minds, so as to smooth his operation along. The more he fit in, the easier it would be for him to move unhindered amongst the populace, barring gross acts that violate his image.

Asuna was a lapse in judgment that became a fine game to relieve his boredom. Anastasia, Agent of The Clocktower, a foe he enjoyed to cross sabers with and strip away that vain armor of precocious maturity to much hilarity. Setsuna was a key asset he required to maximize the economy of his power projection by way of gaining a material advantage to meet optimal performance for a short term goal. The rest, too, was a matter of necessity, such as Kazumi for her archives of intelligence and so on.

Everything happened for a defined reason. Thus, the question is posed: did Doctor N. Springfield really care for these people as human beings, or were they mere chess pieces in a game he tussled between the Dean and London's gentry? Occam's Razor says...

"Ho ho ho ho, congratulations. Congratulations!" came an old hoary rasp besides the boy professor, snapping him to reality. "Ho ho ho ho, a smashing success, don't you think so, Springfield-kun?"

Instantly, Negi was all business as usual, glancing quickly at the projector screen and noting the loud chorus of jubilant cheers, gushing from the sea of estrogen. Never mind he was fuming mentally at the Dean's abrupt appearance beside him, although...

Was it just him or did no else seemed to take notice of them? Surely, the venerable personage of Konoemon Konoe would not have been missed, and some of the more wild girls would have set themselves upon Negi in a heartbeat after seeing the triumphant tally on the screen. Class 2-A, 2-D, and 2-G: his sections had taken the top three placements amongst the student body, and though the boy professor's study sessions was well known, it was little known that he had provided some one-on-one basis tutoring in mathematics and history.

Negi had no love lost over the maths, but he was more than sufficient for the needs of the junior-high school curriculum. History, on the other hand, was elementary, for he was a firm believer that the future could be changed by an intimate knowledge of the mistakes committed in the past, so the same tragedies need not be repeated again. Evidently, his sections had benefited from his tireless effort.

"Proper preparation avoids poor performance, Dean-dono," still, the professor downplayed his success out of good taste.

"How modest of you. I never dreamed Two-A could achieve an average that high, and you helped up your other two classes, too, to trounce Nakajima-kun's favorite, Two-F, and Hiiragi's Two-S. I'm sure Kojirou and Saitou-kun will appreciate your effort in helping to improve Two-D and Two-G."

"Oh, no, no, no, I must not be held accountable for the lion's share of the glory. Koujirou and Saitou-san's close coordination with myself played a key factor in our triumph."

It was all a delaying action, of course. Negi was hoping the autosenses in his A.R. glasses could detect the frequency of whatever sorcery the old, hoary mage was using to "cloak" their presence. Already they had confirmed his earlier suspicion of strange happenings afoot, but it would not aid him in battle, if his foes could just walk up right up to his face and ding him on the nose, without a fuss.

Konoemon, thankfully, did not seem to be aware in the slightest of the sophisticated suite of sensors probing about his ancient person, scrutinizing every wrinkle and crag. "I'm surprised you're not happier with your accomplishment, Springfield-kun. In my not so humble opinion, it's a feat any educator would be jumping for joy over."

"A man need not be praised for doing what is expected of him." Negi riposted, mindful that the Dean's cloaking field seemed to have sound dampening properties too. The increasing brouhaha on the outside was nowhere near as clamorous as it ought to be, yet minute sounds were amplified. "In fact, nearly all men can withstand adversity; the true test, according to the Yanks' very own Abraham Lincoln, is to give a man-**power**."

"Ho, modest and of noble mind! There's no beating you is there?"

"Nonsense. I am but one man."

"Ho, isn't that the truth?"

Negi bit the inside of his lip. It could not have been more wrong for that particular noble truth was not entirely black and white. He knew of someone already so awesome that he longed to ride at that person's side, but instead he had to suffer the ignominy of these little small-minded fools, hardly better than savages. They knew nothing of true terror.

_Ugh_. How the Doctor hated Terra, this self-obsessed cradle of civilization, insulated from calamities far and wide, by virtue of being _The Society_'s primary stronghold in a callous universe. Already he had been tested many times against the foe, Eldritch in that is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons-even death may die. The Master should not have sent him here. Surely, Negi was ready to begin the true trials to become a "Partner", but to be sent, no, exiled back to the playpen...!

"Still," the hoary old man chuckled, stroking his beard, "I'm sure you're anxious to know that I've already settled formalities with The Clocktower. All that remains is your inaugural ceremony to be conducted in London, and you will be a Magister Magi in name and legally. Congratulations, Mister Negi Springfield. It was a pleasure."

Come to think of it, today was the first time the professor was meeting the man who ran Mahora Academy in the flesh, instead of some glaring beam of sunlight. Negi allowed himself a glimmer of a smile at the news, for the older man's sense of security. "Preposterous, sir; the pleasure was mine to be able to work under such an esteemed mage."

"Boy, if you're hoping to butter me up for an added bonus, think again."

"An added bonus, Dean-dono? _Fu_. I was not made aware that such an offer was on the table."

"Ho ho ho ho, you've just passed a grueling evaluation period with flying colors. A little gratitude wouldn't hurt, considering I've upgraded your status from the entry-level lecturer to an instructor, with all its benefits, pay raises, and responsibilities, of course."

"Sir, with all due respect," Negi remarked with a wry arch of an eyebrow, "you were already working me as hard as an instructor, having to handle the course work of three sections at once. Lecturers in my experience should only have one or two tops, depending on their competence and experience. Others less understanding might dare say you were trying to sabotage my evaluation on purpose."

Guilty as charged, but Old Konoemon had prestige and authority, and it was beneath him to admit to such dastardly tactics, "Ho! That's a good joke. Why on Earth would I have any reason to be so malicious to a new hopeful teacher? Though in all fairness, I believe, such a stress test is necessary considering the calm before the storm has passed, and the real battle begins from here."

The Master must have been laughing at him right then, as Negi's felt his palms begin to itch, unpleasantly, with a familiar electric shiver. Oh, how he wished he was wrong, was delusional, and that the inevitable Murphy was not about to rain on his day of triumph! Could this event be what the abnormal had alluded to some months ago that school life in Japan was way~ more interesting than expectation cared to fathom?

"I applaud you for gaining Setsuna-kun's confidence, although her reports still express many a protest and misgiving over yourself being put in charge of my dear Konoka-chan's safety. In fact, she still wishes to duel you once more to settle the matter, which I have yet to permit her to do so, out of good faith."

Bloody hell! the boy professor chaffed at the metaphorical bit. Of all the... It just had to be the princess of the Konoe family, huh? How in the world could he have forgotten that little stipulation in the contract from the beginning of his evaluation period!

"From here on, however," Konoemon's jovial tone turned grave, "trust and cooperation will be key in maintaining our vigilance. You wouldn't believe it, but we got real lucky on Konoka-chan's birthday just a few weeks ago. And when I mean lucky, I do mean _lucky_. That's why you didn't experience a hair of the incident that was about to happen."

An incident on campus? Who would be so bold and craven to try such a thing?

"My-our enemies have grown bolder. Fourteen years old... Ho boy, it's going to be terrible, Springfield-kun; just terrible. _Tsk_. I trust I can count on your expertise from here on?"

"Konoemon-dono," Negi spoke plainly, with an unamused stare, "what kind of English gentleman do you take me for? Of course, I stand by my word and would loathe leaving a task unfinished."

The old wily raccoon grinned right back at him. "Oh, do not worry; I'm well aware young stallions like you chafe at being tied to one place for too long. You're only obligated to watch her for another year; I for one think a change in the guard is in order, once she graduates to high school, to match the escalating threats. I'm afraid I may have to even relegate Setsuna-kun to an advisory role, so Konoka-chan's new protectors are better prepared to cope with her needs."

"I see."

"But, if you happen to entertain the notion of renewing your contract..." Konoemon shot him a meaningful look in parting from under his long Confucian eyebrows. "I may be open to negotiations in the future. Ho ho ho ho, have an enjoyable day, Magister Magi Negi Springfield."

What was left unsaid was a total death sentence, much Negi's perplexed rancor.

The old man turned and slipped back through the throng of girls, with a surprising grace, as if he were threading the needle. Doctor N. Springfield could not have been more glad to be rid of his ancient presence, for Konoemon Konoe had ruined his pre-parade effectively. And with his absence, like a bubble popping, the clamoring sound and frenetic atmosphere of the lobby came rushing back into fill the vacuum of privacy they once shared.

It was bittersweet times like these that Negi wished ardently he was of legal age. Maybe, so was his dim hope, getting right and royally plastered at the local pub would rob his finely honed faculties of the awful memory he just committed to heart and would not soon forget. His sulking, though, would have to wait. The boy professor found himself accosted by a handful his own ecstatic students from all sides, and ever the professional, Doctor N. Springfield put on his artfully constructed smile once more. Their cries came at him in a literal wall of text.

"Hooray!"

"Waii~, Springfield-sensei! Isn't it great? Isn't it great?"

"It's like a dream!"

"Sensei!"

"Springfield-sensei~!"

He knew there was no malign intent behind the heaps of praise they spouted so vapidly, but within the deep marrow of his bones, he bristled at his shackles. It was a beginner's mistake to allow himself such complacency to forget that he had bargained with Fenrir and left his hand in the wolf's fanged mouth. Naturally, the awful animal thought it funny to bite down on his hand, when it came time for him to leave, and there was no leaving without his hand, unless Negi favored life as a cripple.

His reputation would be forever tainted by an incident here in Japan, and with bigger fish and oceans vast in mind, the professor had no choice but to accept for a fact he was not going anywhere soon. ...That said, a tiny part of him in the darkest recesses of the black pumping engine he called a heart rejoiced ever so slightly. No longer did he have to wrestle with the dull aches of separation and the annoyances of moving. The fiefdom he had built for himself at Mahora Academy was still his playground to be improved and used at his leisure, all of his pet projects waiting desperately for his tender attentions.

"I beg your pardon," and speaking of pets, here came his beloved Setsuna Sakurazaki now, "Springfield-sensei, but may I have a word with you?"

The gaggle of girls turned disturbingly as one, and Negi ever clear could not help but shiver at the brief glimmer of feminine scorn riding across the newly transformed coven of harpies. So much for no malign intent, it appeared the grand plan was to monopolize him, after all. Females can be such beautifully terrible creatures.

The Englishman cleared his throat politely, "Run along now, girls. I'm sure you all have a surprise party to prepare for, unless you want Yukihiro-_iincho_ to steal all the good parts again."

Oh, he forgot to add shallow to the mix, when they had a tangible goal, not that the males were any better in the same regard. Women just seemed to be bring a whole new twist to the concept of power plays. Even Setsuna could not help but let out a faint breath of relief it seemed, as the harpies took flight to deal with a greater foe.

"Thank you, sensei. I wasn't sure if I could've convinced them to leave otherwise."

"Empathy, Sakurazaki-kun. Empathy," Negi brushed up glasses by its bridge. "Learn it, live it, use it, and your horizons will broaden before you know it, but we do digress. What do you require of me?"

"R, Require?"

"Remember: empathy. I can see it in your eyes."

Setsuna flushed red to her ears. She had not thought her bearing was so transparent, but now was hardly the time to be berating herself at her immaturity, "Well... I wish I wasn't the bearer of bad news, but you need to go to the Mahora Academy Station right away. It's... It's Cocolova-san, Springfield-sensei! I, I tried to convince her to wait, but..."

And then a profoundly magical thing happened, Doctor Negi Springfield, Ph.D., took off-his glasses. Caught off guard, or so she rationalized after the fact, Setsuna found herself joining the throngs of other girls still milling about the lobby in a collective moment of breathlessness. It was the sort of primal feeling, deeply ingrained in the lesser lizard brain of mortals, allowing them to recognize when a deadly predator appeared in their midst.

Words escaped her in the deadly thrill of the moment, but if she did not know any better, the bodyguard swore that she was looking at a positively incensed Negi Springfield, like the glimmer of a blade being drawn. In fact, these feelings that left caresses of goosebumps, electrifying across her skin as he took her shivering hands into his oddly tender care. Could it be-killing intent? Yes, it was very refined, calibrated to an almost cruel, surgical precision, neither apathetic or murderous.

"Sharp-eyed lass. Hold onto these," he last spoke to her in a most peculiar accent, "I'll be back fer them in days three hence, and if I shan't return hand in shadow, ye'll never see me again. Oh, and let all the pretty lasses know, behave, and consider the party belayed 'til the guest of honor returned. Cheerio!"

Indeed, Negi felt possessed of one pure, noble purpose: a katana.

* * *

If brutal, tyrannical dictators that destroyed human freedom, murdering and torturing their own citizenry, whose only crime was to oppose their hegemony, then Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova had to admit, there was no hope in making trains run on time. Hers was late this fair morning, leaving her uneviably stranded at Mahora Academy Station, while her flight waited in Tokyo. With the onset of the mudbloods new age of terror, in the wake of a dastardly attack on one of the world's superpowers, airport security had been increased to almost paranoid levels that may cause her to miss the pre-flight boarding.

It would highly inconvenience her, as she would already receive the runaround being a minor in appearance, in spite of her carte blanche papers that in theory allowed her to travel relatively unmolested by so-called adults. Ave Maria, the moment she got back to headquarters, Anastasia swore she was going to get a transfer off-world to Mars or Mundus Magicus. The Russian had had it with Terra, and all of its insufferably incorrigible...

Abruptly, a strong gale began to blow through the station, interrupting the better part of the magistra magi's fit, as she remembered a modicum of modesty. Wearing her ribbon adorned straw hat and a skirt could be so inconvenient at times, although Anastasia would be damned, if she was caught dead in a pair of tights and not much else. As far as fashion statements went, it was absolutely, scandalizingly deplorable.

Distracted by the wind rifling through her rustling clothes, naturally, she did not have a clue until it was too late that a pair of strong arms, supple and as impervious as steel, encircled her into an embrace from behind. "Avast, and hullo there, darling cousin, taking flight somewhere I see?"

Anastasia wanted to believe, desperately, that it was not so, could not be so, but there was no denying his suavely peculiar utterance of the English tongue, somewhere between a bombastic nobleman and a frank savage. ...Not to mention, there was the outstanding issue of his cologne. She hoped she could have avoid such a confrontation, but it seemed her blunder with the barbarian, Sakura-whatever, had sealed her fate.

"_Gyii_!" the magistra magi squealed girlishly, squirming as if she were being burned by his very touch. "Ge, get your paws of me, you nasty animal! Cretin! Beast!"

Ah, she really is my favorite poison pink polka dot chihuahua, thought Negi, his lips peeling back into a gleaming grin. "Now, is that anyway to talk to the boy ye shared the same roof under for the better part of six months, cooked for ye, took ye to the dance, danced with ye, and brought ye a heartfelt gift many?"

True, they had not gone shopping together...yet. Heh. He could imagine the fun already.

"Dance! Gifts! Heartfelt? Oh, youuuuuuuuuuu...! Y, You danced with me last at the New Years party, and picked that backward barbarian as your first choice. When it came to gifts, you favored someone else over me. The wretched I, me, always the dead last!"

Those last words she punctuated empathically with wildly thrown elbows and kicks, which due to their close proximity, the Doctor had no choice but to acquiesce, setting her free.

"Saving the best for last, me dear cousin," still, he wore an ineffably unrepentant smile on his handsome face, made roguishly rugged by a minor addition of gauze bandages.

The latter he could thank Anastasia for, the girl having whipped about to face him, red with fury to her ears, after having cleared a healthy distance.

"Saving the best? Are you mad? When it came to a moment of crisis, again, you snubbed me for that tar-haired wench. On the day after Valentines, you bought the very same asinine barbarian a roll of fine silk, and even that boorish, cross-eyed tomboy a bike. What did I get? A cake... C-A-K-E!"

Even in all her fury, however, the magistra magi could not help but notice that Negi Springfield came across a very different devil without the constant companionship of his glasses. Where as his debonair air was focused to a precise frequency at his beck and call usually, the boy professor now radiated his presence carelessly as the sun. Being at the center of the conflagration, Negi did not really take notice of her sudden consternation, as he entertained an appropriate response in his capricious thoughts.

Well, you did dump a whole vat of chocolate milk on me, my beloved poison chihuahua from the freezing north. I mean, what did you expect? Not that I was any better at Christmas and New Years where I gave out dairy products time and time again, though I hope the intake of fats, protein, vitamin D, and calcium would be conducive to your growth in appropriate categories you are still lacking in. Bone structure and musculature was taken into account, and as for breasts, hips, thighs, buttocks... That's all adipose tissue. Fats and the like. Thus, with your ravenous metabolism and active lifestyle in mind, I didn't see any harm whatsoever. Can you blame me for looking out in the best interests of a growing adolescent girl?

Of course, he was not suicidal, having gotten a taste of the little spitfire's fury prior (read: flaming punches and kicks hurt, a lot, and are bad for his complexion), so he opted for more diplomatic rhetoric.

"They say, it is wot it is, yes? My feelings for ye is liken to a cake. It has-_many _layers, with assorted ice cream fillings, caramel, strawberries, whipped cream, chocolate mousse, and Kitty Kat cheesecake wafers."

"Are you trying to fatten me up, you tasteless cannibal!"

"I labored fer days on that sinful sweet just for ye. I thought it the finest example of Devil's foodcake ever craft by mortal hands, and why not coming from me genius?"

Doctor N. Springfield would know, too, considering he had the opinions of two demonic gourmets helping him along. He had not expected the Sisters of Purgatory to have such fine appetites, though they both professed that their palate paled in comparison to their beloved baby sister Beelzebub of Gluttony. The girl was such a true gourmet, she would go as far as to volunteer her own luscious body to create the ultimate mouthwatering perfection.

"Again with that absurdly high opinion of yourself!" Anastasia's fiery retort shattered his reverie with all the grace of a sledgehammer.

"Ah." Negi's lips narrowed, compressed into a single bold and sensuous line. "But if y'er not with me, who is to curb the onset of megalomania, darling cousin? Certainly not yer favorite barbarian bodyguard, if ye ask me." Behind closed doors, Anastasia was exceedingly caustic about the seemingly stoic, but definitely reticent Japanese girl. "No. I require a fiery spirit, independent, unafraid to challenge me, no matter what the consequences might be, and I prefer it that way. Some men are great by themselves, but I shall be the man who shines brilliantly in the tempest, surrounded by greatness."

"Surrounded by greatness? Shining brilliantly? You? **Ha**. There are jokes, Stupid Onion, and then, there are delusions."

"Exactly," Negi agreed with a serious nod, much to her obvious gaping surprise, "and I think ye belong with me, behind me, by me side, or however ye fancy the arrangement, though I don't think me heart's prepared to be on the bottom just yet. Give us a little time and a few more years for ye to become a good lass, savvy see, yeah? I promise I'll be ready for ye then, count on it."

"Wh-Wha, what?" Anastasia spluttered at his sudden about face. Was she hallucinating from the heat? Oh, rot this awful Japanese weather!

"Now, I'm aware The Clocktower fogeys may own ye, so I'm comin' with ye to rectify that obvious oversight. I want ye more than they need ye, and like I tells ye, I don't take kindly to sharing is caring. We's a going to hand in ye resignation, and y'er coming back to work for me, Magistra Magi Negi Springfield is wot. I can't promise a bunch of benefits yet, but name the wage they gave ye, and I can do better."

Wh, what was he saying? Was Springfield doing what she thought he was doing? P, Preposterous. He couldn't be serious! thought the magistra magi in increasing alarm. "M, My flight leaves at three in the afternoon!"

"Smashing. I'll have us moved to First-class before departure."

Common sense, apparently, was not on Negi Springfield's radar at the moment. Air traffic controller's at Springfield International still cannot explain how a two-hundred twenty ton, aerodynamically sound gorilla that was "Common Sense" just dropped out of the sky.

"You...! _Ugh_. One-thousand Galleons!"

"Two-thousand two-hundred Galleons, done and done to be wired to yer accounts on the first and fifteenth of every month, just like the government does

"I'm-! ...I'm no prostitute to be bought and sold!" Anastasia vented frantically in her final, desperate defense.

"Of course y'er not, my _silly _Anya. I'd have the bastard (or the bitch) and everyone that harbored he (or she) neutered in public and hung from the city walls on pikes up their buttocks, who would dare such audacity."

The gruesome portent of Doctor N. Springfield's words, which he said in all deadpanned seriousness, was lost on the magistra magi. Instead, the more feminine part of her mind could only stare in almost gibbering elation and confusion at the phrase specifically mentioning her in an affectionately frank, yet dastardly manner that made her gnash her teeth. Selective hearing could be such a blessing and a curse, so why was it she felt...happy?

"A-A-Anya? Your-"

"Y'er to be my new adjutant," Negi steamrolled right over her flabbergasted protests, "but since I've seen how dreadfully dull it is for ye to stay in the shadows all day long, I shall entreat the Dean to enroll ye under a scholarship, so that ye may join Two... Nay. Three-A in the Spring, right in the thick of things. Good help is hard to find, and I require such a professional in my present predicament."

Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova stared, speechless, her words miscarrying in her abruptly constricted throat. It took a few moment for the red-haired girl to come to grips with the emotional loop-de-loop she had been carried through by the infernal boy professor's bombast. There was many a conflict raging inside her thoughts that threatened to spill over into a violent outburst, wherefore she would likely try to strangle the life out of Negi Springfield.

In fact, it was only with great pains that she managed to find even the power to speak, plainly, in the same horrible English as him, "...Your predicament?"

"Come now," the perpetrator of all her troubles fanned out his hands half-heartedly, "ye didn't forget I gots leashed by the Dean on the first day, did ye?"

And after another tense moment, it finally clicked for Anastasia, a probable, pathetic answer that would not reduce her to a hysterical mess. She laughed. Haughtily. Never before had Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova been more determined than to wipe that virulent smile off her former target, come employer's face, until now, and repay his bittersweet scorn ten-thousand fold. Indeed, the Russian girl understood her mistake that she had been the fool to think everything was over between her and her newly christened nemesis, just because her mission came to its pyrrhic conclusion.

Oh no, the true war began from today, at this very instant!

"...puh..._Pffffffttttttt_! Ha ha ha ha ha! Is, _tee hee hee_, that how, _hee hee_, it is?"

"My lil' Ruskie girl, this is no laughing matter. My head is on the chopping block, so rightly that is how it is!"

"_Tee hee hee_. S, Stupid Onion, scaring me like that," her lips drew back into a stunning feral smile. "You're an unbelievably unreasonable person as always."

Visibly unfazed, Negi though could not shake the beginnings of a funny knot in his stomach. He had an awful inkling that he had a made a terrible blunder somehow, and would no doubt pay for it later in the gallows. Still, it was not as if the present threat of impending doom was his first experience, so he would carry on like The Master and worry about the Iron Maiden when he saw it coming.

"And ye're an unbelievably volatile person, silly Anya, but no matter, I understand this offer is sudden, so I can afford ye some time to consider, nay, I implore ye to consider, while our paths continue to intersect. Y'er skills would be invaluable to the continuing vigil in the coming year."

"Since you're hiring me for the way I am, don't come crying to me later for a refund, because in Mother Russia: little boys find machine guns, now the village population is **none**."

Doctor N. Springfield found himself giving pause.

"...Touché, Mademoiselle Cocolova. Touché."

Maybe he should revise his estimates from Iron Maiden to Tuesday, partly cloudy, with a chance of death by satisfyingly thorough overkill.

"One-thousand seven-hundred fifty Galleons."

"Excuse me?" Negi blinked at his Anya's sudden revision in the proposal.

She was asking for less? Not that he minded terribly so; short of astronomical sums, money was not really much of an issue to him, thanks to the healthy interest he was accruing on ten years worth of pay and bonuses that the boy professor never even spent two-pence worth. Attrition rates might be grotesquely high, but _The Society_ took care of their own well.

"It's what my pay raise would've been had I been promoted," Anastasia snubbed her pretty nose airily at him, as the electric howl of an engine sounded its imminent arrival.

"Oh... Well then, let it be so."

The train of opportunity steamed into the lonely station long last, destination unknown, but laying a course set for the adventure that is trials and travails.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

God dang it, I put way too much content in this chapter, and it seemed so simple too when I first started. Promise I'll try to cut 'em back down to the 5000s. It's totally unreasonable y'all have to slog through such long walls of text.

Oh, and yeah, y'all noticed, but I'm retconning an old mistake I made. It goes to show that assumptions from a couple years worth of old memory make an ass out of you and me.

Galleon, one of the most widely accepted legal tender in the magical world.

Do look forward to a brisk Spring Break expose that may lead in to the highly anticipated Evangeline Arc, and many thanks as always for tuning in. With any luck, I should have the next piece done at the latest by next week, and if I'm somehow miraculously motivated, probably by the coming weekend. ...Though I have to agree with some folks, The Doctor is awful twisted.

Peace.


	9. Chapter 9

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. WARNING: there is some content ahead that might trigger an unexpected diabetic shock. You have been warned.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 09:

Spring Fever

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

The opening ceremony for the academic year of 2003 at Mahora Academy, no, the whole school district was actually quite beautiful. Doctor N. Springfield had to tip his hat to the legion of landscaping artists, civil engineers, gardeners, and laborers, the power bloc behind this institution had hired to ensure that come every Spring, Mahora would be transformed into a haven of pink. Sakura trees planted just about everywhere were bathing the town in florid kisses of cotton candy that alas was not edible.

Settling his affairs in London took the better part of the brief intermission, between the school closing ceremony and now, much to Negi's ire. The old fogeys at The Clocktower, some vainly beautiful, some plainly ugly, but all equally bad to the bone, had collectively ripped a ripe, fresh one, when he pulled an underhanded trick on them in the same way of a highway stickup. To be frank, he was no fan of legalities, but loopholes were what injected a fresh dose of fun into an otherwise stagnant system of order that most people were expected to obey, lest they wish to forsake the stability and protection of society.

Doctor N. Springfield did not give less than two shillings off the broadside of an elephant's arse about such tired norms. The old fogeys had something of his he wanted more than they needed her, and he was not going to leave the whole of God Bless Britain without her prissy redheaded self. Thus, he invoked the rather obscure (and difficult to find, almost as if someone had been trying to hide it) Statuette of Terrence Somerled, a magister magi from Scotland some centuries ago. Now, Mister Somerled had already been a practicing mage for some decades, so when it came time for him to be officially recognized by the courts in London, he asked for a "reasonable boon" from the elders, instead of receiving a wand.

Historically, magical instruments were quite expensive, and the "Magister's wand" was a gift than any young magus would be happy to receive. The wand would become a constant companion for many years, until their private coffers filled enough for these young men and women to consider a suitable replacement to their first love, arguably. The Scotsman, though had no such need; his true concerns for his coming to London were far more pressing, and he caused quite an awful fuss when he dropped the bombshell on them.

He eventually had his way, or otherwise, the Doctor would not be here thanking his predecessor for his bold action and wit. Negi, of course, did not ask anything as ridiculous as the parole of a wanted criminal, with a bounty in the hundreds of millions, to be released into his care for a potential suicide mission, but Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova belonged to a powerful institution. It was an issue of pride, and Old Scotland Yard, an investigative arm of the Ministry of Magical Justice, would not take kindly to an upstart, whom they had been ordered to monitor, stealing away the very same agent they assigned on his case from them.

The fact Anastasia was rising star in the force did not help either, but what the old men and women say is law, and the Welsh boy got his adjutant. Certainly, there was a considerable invested price tag on the training of new aurors like her, it was a worth while compromise, compared to the legendary "tantrum" Negi Springfield threatened to unleash, much like his predecessor. Terrence Somerhled had been an unusually gifted politician and had brought to heel his detractors in the ensuing court battle over his "reasonable" request, which still lived on today as one of the greatest indignities the elders of The Clocktower had ever suffered at the hands of a single individual.

The present generation of esteemed bureaucrats, naturally, had no wish to repeat such an inglorious incident within their lifetime, because more than they cared to admit, Doctor N. Springfield reminded them awfully too much of the cunning Scotsman. The Queen only knows what craven lows he would sink to in order to dethrone his enemies, for at least Somerhled had his many years to hold his passionate anger in check. Negi, likely, had no such conception of chivalry, and would see them all burned in a flaming pyre.

Of course, he also did not seem to have the faintest clue that he was an heir to greatness, which added a suffocating weight to his words, and coincidentally, the Scotsman, too, had once held the title of "Earl of Ibrasel".

About the only gentleman who seemed to be enjoying the proceedings was The Magus, Dean of Meldiana Academy from where Springfield had graduated just half a year ago. Theirs had been a friendship kindled immediately upon meeting each other, and the archmagus had been happy to approve the proposed measure by his short-lived pupil. To him, the young heir was a much welcomed wind of change in the Wizarding World, and though he could not be certain what magnitude of greatness Negi would achieve, he imagined it would be spectacular, love him or hate him.

Besides, the Welsh boy conceded that after her contractual obligation to him were void, Miss Cocolova was welcome to return to her former place of employment, if she so wished and if Old Scotland Yard would still have her. It was bloody generous of him, as judging by his curt, seething tone, Negi Springfield did not happen to like inviting the wolves onto his front porch. With any luck, his colleagues in the ministry would know better than to jockey for prime position over the Russian girl.

Springfield fever was still catching, and the same was true in Japan, even if it was for an entirely different set of reasons. The boy professor had been standing by patiently on stage in his chair while the various senior school officials pontified themselves before the entire assembly of the student body, when his turn came up, quite unexpectedly. Unlike most of the other speeches, Negi had been paying careful attention to the rhetoric in Takamichi T. Takahata's farewell address, which had caused quite a stir amongst the students, and one awfully loud gasp from an all too familiar face.

In spite of his failings, the former English teacher had his round of popular supporters amongst the student body, and for their sake, Doctor N. Springfield figured he could delay the bespectacled gent's tasking, once more, for another time. Alas, his good will did not translate at all into his unmolested escape. Being the young man set in stone by the Dean to replace him, Takahata returned to his script and asked for Negi to join him on the podium, much to the latter's private commiseration.

The round of applause sounded more like the cry of a bloodthirsty mob, after the barrage of a firing squad, but duty called, and the young professor improvised to the best of his eloquence, mindful of the handful worth of openly pointed glares. It appeared his official inauguration was not to be entirely uncontested amongst the female student body, and he committed the faces to memory, some of which were quite close to him. Asuna Kagurazaka was a no brainer, although her fury was misplaced, logically speaking.

Takamichi T. Takahata was the architect of his downfall. As far as Negi was concerned, the man got off lightly, receiving just a reassignment to a different school within the district where he would take the steed in place of a retiring art teacher. His day of reckoning could not come soon enough, but the young professor had a sense for tact and knew better than to shame the man in public, especially when their profession demanded so much of their respective images. He had a Mariana's Trench worth of castigation to say to the posing jackarse!

The real surprise, though, was his very own Chisame Hasegawa, No. 25, with whom Negi always thought he had a civil relationship. It was regrettable she did not participate in any social activities, being part of the "Go-Home Club" and all, but the girl was not a problem child, and he saw no reason to begrudge her preference for solitude. Hell, there were days he wished he could have such a luxury as time to himself, but the professor's busy lifestyle simply did not allow for it.

At first he thought her discontent with him was just a delusion on his part, so Negi decided to block out the whole event, for his own convenience. Alas, when it came to call roll for the newly assembled Class 3-A, Chisame's glare returned with a vengeance, as her classmates swooned and fawned over his return. Normally, she was rather tolerant of their over-the-top behavior, but today, the characteristic "little madness" seemed to be driving the poor girl wild.

Then again, The Doctor tried to rationalize that his lack of glasses at the time could be the root cause for the crisis, which seemed reasonable, considering the girls' super-sized portions of affection. Though, come to think of it, his reception on-stage earlier was more likened to a rock star worthy ovation from which quite a few girls had fainted by way of excessive swooning hysteria. There were heaps of heart-filled praise lauding his efforts, showing off the trophy they earned, and well wishes for the new year by way of an especially sappy, theatrical power performance, courtesy of Ayaka Yukihiro the class representative.

Given his first chance, he really should retrieve his glasses from dear Setsuna, who seemed to relish his predicament with a ghost of a smile. She had been quite troubled when he told her over the phone that his return estimate needed to be revised, since the bodyguard would have to be the messenger of bad news to the rest of her classmates. Still, Negi thought it was uncalled for her to call him out on outstandingly delaying, then 2-A's celebration in taking first place amongst all the second year classes.

Thankfully, the boy professor had a trump card already in place to defeat such a tactic.

It was then Professor Negi Springfield introduced the new transfer student to Class 3-A, whom he had gone on his brief sojourn specifically to recruit at the behest of the Dean no less: his darling baby cousin, Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova. Goodness, how perfect his favorite poison pink polka dot chihuahua had looked in her new school uniform, as the entire class held their breaths as one. Konoemon Konoe had been skeptical about his proposal at first, but after hearing his exploits against The Clocktower, the old raccoon heartily agreed to his request on the grounds of "paying him a favor-forwards".

Thus, Anya was permitted to join 3-A, serving as a fantastic human decoy right on her maiden debut. It was literally a repeat of his own first day in class, with a literal human tide surging forwards to envelop the Russian girl. Bewilderment robbing the better part of her faculties, Anya could only mewl incoherently, as she was assailed from all sides by the gaggle of enthusiastic girls. Even Negi could not help but share a conspiratory look in Setsuna's direction, scandalizing the bodyguard crimson.

She hurriedly averted her gaze, as to be expected, and rose from her seat, following their agreed upon contingency plan. Doctor N. Springfield was not so heartless that he would just leave his new secretary to fend for herself, in spite of her insistence she could handle the giggling mob just fine. Thus, recalling a previous occasion where Setsuna informed him that the class representative thought quite highly of her, she would be an appropriate vector to talk some sense back into Ayaka, whom predictably lost her head in the fiasco.

Of course, while Operation Not-So-Little Red One was under way, Negi's internal radar had not been idle, sweeping his domain once more. Again, Asuna Kagurazaka was no surprise, plus the usual polite fence sitters, but Chisame Hasegawa singled herself out by faceplanting her forehead sufferingly on her desk, the impact audible to his ears in spite of her seclusion in the rear of the class. Someone with a plebian sense of social graces would have been dismayed at such a display, but Doctor N. Springfield was far from the plebian.

Inwardly, he smiled the Cheshire Cat's grin for the unwitting bespectacled girl had just singled herself out as his newest pet. How convenient that he already had two red-headed stepchildren in his collection, so why not add a third to make it a bloody fine hat-trick? Goodness, Negi was auburn-haired himself; therefore, he only needed one more runt to make a quintella! **Ha**.

The day went much smoother from there on, as Ayaka finally succeeded in wrangling her peers back into their seats by shear force of personality. In spite of all the hopelessly dramatic fawning she could rut herself into, the blue blood girl was not bereft of the qualities required by her elected position, and his opinion of her improved a few points. That said, always one to nurture potential where he saw it, Negi tasked her and the class post-haste to decide where his dear Anya would sit-after she introduced herself.

The petite Russian girl had been in the middle of catching her breath when his decree blindsided her with all the grace of a car accident, causing Anastasia to give an undignified start, as she became the center of attention again. Negi had the distinctive feeling judging by the brief scathing scowl his secretary shot his way that she was going to find some way of making him regret throwing her to the wolves not once, but twice! At present, the entertainment value of watching proud, precocious Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova squirming under the tender mercies from a coven of junior-high age harpies was worth too much not to indulge himself in.

She stuck to the script and carried herself as well as any little serious Miss Spitfire, doing honor to many in the same vein who came before her, at least in his not so humble opinion anyways. Of course, the script being what it was, Anya improvised with great relish at shooting a few childish barbs his way, typical in so-called hot-blooded sibling relationships. Class 3-A ate up the drama like it was the best thing since steamed rice, cementing the authenticity of their fabricated story to the bone.

Anya was going to fit in just fine, and out of polite respect, he refrained from humiliating his young cousin before the class, allowing her a small taste of victory for the exercise. The point was to make her fit in, not turn her into a social pariah because of her age or some other rubbish, and the plan worked beautifully. As for Anya herself, like it or not, there were a lot of volunteers right from the get go determined to be her new surrogate big sister. By some unspoken means, the class representative easily convinced Miss Sakurako Shiina to vacate her seat, so she could have done far worse when it concerned good company.

Negi, though, did not miss the conspiratory thumbs up Ayaka shared with the rest of the trio that formed the Cheerleaders group, while a huge brouhaha followed afterward. Indeed, the first day of his classes were quite interesting and lively, such that he could not complain for a want of boredom. Getting ambushed by a blisteringly lonely Leviathan of Envy and a rapaciously covetous Mammon of Greed as soon as he locked the door to his bedroom was a slight oversight in the grand scheme of things.

It was only thanks to quick thinking and a savvy word or two that the boy professor managed to get away with only a handful of hickeys and scratches from way too sharp nails, which he managed to heal just in the nick of time for dinner. His routine evening war of words with the "green-eyed" Russian girl would have turned out very, very violent, he suspected, if Negi had appeared fresh from the hay, so to speak. The English gentleman swore his ribs and neck were still sore weeks after the amorous assault by the Sisters of Purgatory.

Next time, he would have to remember to take them along on his overseas trips, for the demonic homunculi simply did not take well to being left alone in the same fashion of more mundane pets favored by the average plebian. It was a miracle they had not caused some catastrophe on campus, ever since he allowed them free reign to explore, under the pretense of observing the comings and goings of Konoka Konoemon. When the sisters were not preoccupied with the princess, naturally, they played relatively harmless pranks, which Negi was fully aware of and sometimes offered his own praise, as was the nature of demons.

He dared not forbid such an indulgence to them because it would run contrary to his own personal beliefs, concerning the duality of sentient creatures whom possessed "humanity". As awful Leviathan and Mammon were to each other, there was a definite affection in the routine battle of curses and bouts of humiliation between sisters. It was abnormal certainly, but the line between love and hate, too, is a thin one.

Speaking of "love", Anastasia took her stride as his new "adjutant" more zealously than expected, laying down a plan of attack within a week of how to go about improving the security details of the precious Konoka Konoemon. Hell, she even already had a shift schedule worked out, and contingency plans to be followed in case of emergencies. Negi would praise her fastidiousness, if she had stopped there, but oh no, Anya insisted they rehearse and train together regularly, and mandated that each team member be able to take over the duties of the other, within reasonable competence.

Thus, Setsuna and himself had to run the full gamut of grunt work, namely setting up a far more comprehensive surveillance network and making improvements to the bodyguard's own humble measures. By the end of the time consuming project, Konoka Konoemon was layered in an invisible spider's web that could track her movements autonomously in real-time and account for any and all encounters daily on campus. Additionally, Anya's web could be used to track other subjects as well, and had some stealthy proprietary failsafe mechanisms built-in to prevent reverse tracking back to the nerve center at "headquarters". It was impressive work, showing off the Russian girl's genius and tireless attention to detail, but in her vainglory, she seemed to have forgotten about the huge volumes of data the system would accumulate.

Embarrassed but still stoutly defending her sophisticated spellweave, the raw components of which she hid smartly as any self-respecting mage should, Anya struggled even now to conceive of some way to correct the oversight. At present, there was no feature that allowed the user to heuristically review the data for the most pertinent incidences, and the so-called "Alert" feature was unreliable. Negi could still recall being notified via electronic text message every other hour incessantly whenever Konoka would happen to sneeze, stub her toe on an offending table, and vice-versa, such that his cellphone's inbox became utterly overwhelmed.

Surprisingly enough, it was Setsuna who encouraged him not to be overly critical of the magistra magi, and keep their faith that Anya would iron out the growing pains in good time. It spoke plenty for the bodyguard's professionalism, even if in private, she had her dissatisfied misgivings no doubt, shoveling her fair share of unspoken resentment towards himself and Anya, when Setsuna thought he was not looking. The development was acceptable by Negi's estimates; he had not expected his new cohorts, whom he insisted on having the Dean officially recognize, to become a team over night, after all.

In fact, he was quite enjoying the sparks that came with the forming period. Why Doctor N. Springfield professed his raven-haired intern, Sakurazaki, could look so alluringly adorable in a pair of glasses (his glasses, too, by the way) that her supposedly stoic image did a complete about face for him. It was such a profoundly heart breathless, pounding moment of red, from which by great Herculean effort The Doctor stopped himself from squealing like a school girl and proceeding to snuggle the ever loving cute~ out of Setsuna, he had a most nefarious thought.

How would his acquaintances, colleagues, pupils, and employees look with a pair of glasses? Of Asuna, Ayaka, and from there on it gets a little sweeter with Anya~? Who knew putting on a pair of glasses, and... Voila! Could change a person's appeal to be so-intelligently cute~?

Little did the world know, Doctor Negi Springfield just hit upon the guilty pleasure of "glasses appeal". Suffice to say, Setsuna Sakurazaki flushed red at his unannounced walk-in, scandalized, and made him swear not to tell another soul under threat of some outrageous penalty game. Negi agreed without much protest, though privately the professor bristled that she would suggest he of all people would squander such a glorious tale at an inopportune moment.

But as enjoyably interesting the month of April had been, he was all too happy to welcome Japan's time-honored tradition of "Golden Week". Between his classes and Anastasia's demanding schedule, Negi Springfield needed a vacation to cure him of his exhaustion, and let his accumulating bumps and pains heal naturally for a change. Part of the Russian girl's proposed dress rehearsals allowed for the use of his team's respective repertoires at less-than-lethal outputs in order to facilitate a realistic training environment. He learned quickly the hard way that the "buddy cop" combination of Anya and Setsuna was a force to be reckoned with, exacerbated by the fact he refused to reveal more of his hand.

Of course, Negi realized the girls were holding back, too, obviously, what with the traditional distrust between East and West being one of the many contributing factors to their group dynamics. But, ah, today was his day off, and he should not be worry about such details, which was precisely why the boy professor resolved to make an unannounced visit to the Mahora News' "studio". The fact, they managed to secure two meeting rooms and convert the second partially into a private office for the executive editor spoke well enough for the prestige of the Mahora News, never mind they were infamous as tabloid paparazzi.

Kazumi Asakura herself did not do any favors to improve the paper's image either. The self-styled journalist was an infamous scoop hound and had no qualms with bending established senses of moral rightness to get what she wanted. Also, Asakura had a bit of a sadistic high when it came to voyeurism, from what Negi had heard about her; hence, her love of taking embarrassing stories and-or picture of her classmates. In short, she was the sort of morally questionable company he had no problems spending a leisurely business exchange with over a cup of tea, after he taught the girl some manners.

Though it was an unannounced visit, Kazumi was an eagerly gracious hostess, considering the office was empty, save for herself at the time. The club had a small break room, and since Negi had brought the tea and the cakes himself, afternoon tea kicked off splendidly.

"_Maa_, Springfield-sensei, you really surprised me though!" the paparazzi girl fluttered her hand towards him in a dainty beckoning gesture, reminding him of the iconic beckoning cat prominent in most commercial establishments. "I know you're an interesting boy, but even someone like you should know a thing or two about good manners and common sense amongst us mere mortals."

Negi chuckled at his glasses clad companion, the presence of which actually enhanced her famed kitsune-like behavior. "Ah, but if I had given you advance warning, Asakura-kun, I would never have the pleasure of seeing you in glasses. I think such a miraculous event is a saucy tale in itself worth telling to ladies and gentlemen I should happen to deem worthy to keep my company with at the pub."

How ironic that of all the types he had met in Mahora Academy, Kazumi Asakura, No. 3, was also among the number he would wish to included at such a gathering. As much fun his Anya and that Asuna can be, even Negi needed better players to stimulate his wits and keep them sharp. Kazumi was exactly the prescription The Doctor so happened to require.

"Oh, please, it's a common sight enough around here at the office. A reporter's eyes is everything to her, you know? So I wear some reading glasses to deal with some the really god awful handwriting I have to sift through every now and again."

"Awful handwriting?"

"Promotion in grade. Seniors are expected to take on the roles of editors and look after our young correspondents. I was actually in the ballot to become the executive editor, but I decided to decline from the seat. I love the old fashioned street work too much to give it up to sit behind a desk all day long, see?"

"Hnn, I see," Negi nodded, ignoring the flirtatious flutter of her eyelashes, before Kazumi savagely bit into one of his masterfully white chocolate chip glazed American-style muffins that she had been eyeing ever since they came out to play. The result was instantaneous, courtesy of the Sisters of Purgatory's expert opinions.

"Ooooo~!" she purred as the chocolate induced euphoria took her for a sinfully psychedelic adventure. "These are...! Oh, what's the French phrase, again? Yes. _Tres magnifique_~, Springfield-sensei! Have you considered loaning out your services for a bake sale fundraiser? I bet you it would be a smashing success."

"I doubt it, for I lack the dispassionate passion to cook for complete, faceless strangers I have not met yet."

"_Kusukusu_...! That's our Springfield Negi, English Gentleman, for you, folks, but as much as I'd like to pretend you came here just to see me, I imagine I'd have to be high as kite for that to happen with the way we started our friendship, isn't that right, _sensei_? A busy young, strapping man like you has better things he can be doing on the holidays, right? Right?"

"Well, I think coming over to play with you is more of a... It was last Tuesday activity for me, when you factor in my responsibilities. Being an educator in England was nowhere near as exciting as the travails Japan has put me through in the past seven months, and I have the lot of you to thank for the spontaneous combustion of my leisurely days."

"_Maa_, _maa_, you can't complain for boredom at least," Kazumi laughed sheepishly, knowing for a fact she was one of the culprits adding to his stress, "so what can I do for you, _sen_~_sei_?"

Negi sipped his Darjeeling, enjoying the characteristic astringent, musky spiciness in all of its unadulterated fullness, another unexpected boon thanks to Leviathan and Mammon. Apparently, their meister had been an infamous connoisseur of the finer things in life, and an avid tea maniac. They were not as apt as the head manservant who attended to such matters in the glorious household the sisters served a long, long time ago. Still, after working alongside each other for so many aeons together, they managed to pick up a much coveted trick or two from Ronove, a Marquis and Great Earl of Hell, whom commanded twenty legions of demons.

"I wonder if you would happen to know a thing or two about Hasegawa Chisame and Yukihiro Ayaka?"

"Oooo~, moving up in the world are we, Springfield-sensei? _Kusukusu_, I guess, the puppy love brained tramps and so on weren't totally off-base...though Chisame-chan comes as a bit of a dark horse in the running. Then again, you helping to coordinate for Asuna-chan's birthday party came as quite a surprise too."

And what a bash that had been, though it did not mean their enmity was over. Negi considered it a special day of ceasefire was all, not to mention it had the side effect of improving his image with Konoka. "I would advise you not to presume and save yourself some embarrassment from misunderstandings, but I think the effort will be in vain. It takes a different type of breed to carry yourself the way you do, after all, Asakura Kazumi-kun."

"Oh, no~!" Kazumi pouted at him like a spoiled child. "_Sen_-_sei_. Can't you knock it off with the -kun? It's just us, and it's a holiday! So...y'know, you should at least call me Asakura-_chan_! Even a girl like me still has sensitive feelings like that."

The Doctor had to suppress the urge to toy with her tail at the sight of such a helpless expression, in his eyes anyhow. "Do you want to consider it sufficient payment for today?"

"Gyah! How relentless; you drive a hard bargain there, sensei. Don't you know it's cruel and unusual to put a girl's femininity against her career?"

"If you were not so intent on exposing the _truth_ of things, Asakura-kun, you would have made a fierce intelligence operative. How I laugh callously at the expense of the rich, the wealthy, and the powerful should you follow your heart to the bitter end."

"And why does your flattery have to sound so~ good?" bemoaned the violet-eyed girl (a curious coloration definitely), putting the back of her hand to her forehead in a mock swoon. "Ah! I get it. That won't do. That won't do. That just won't do at all, isn't that right, Ka-zu-mi? _Kusukusu_."

At the onset of her counterattack, abruptly, Negi felt that familiar electric itch lance through his palms, like a burning fever. It was a definitive bad feeling of some inconvenience about to befall him, but his curiosity demanded to be sated, in spite of the cost. "Is that so?"

"Here's my counter offer, Negi Springfield! My paper still needs to sponsor a promising young man for The Prince of Mahora competition that'll be kicking off during the annual district-wide cultural festival, and I think you're the one who's perfect for our image."

"...I would rather not be associated with a tabloid newspaper, Asakura-kun," the boy professor deadpanned evenly. She had a long ways to go towards convincing him if that alone was her best pitch. "Even if you are, as the Yanks say, the only game in town when it comes to our school in particular."

"_Kusukusu_! ...Ah, you got me there," Kazumi flinched as if she were a prizefighter who had taken a solid, jarring blow to the jaw. She was on the ropes, hard, but was not out of the fight yet. "A weak swing like that won't cut it for an English gentleman, huh? Then how about this... Everything between us from now on stays off the air, until my death bed, sounds fair?"

"Sounds too good to be true, my dear. Is this beauty pageant for mustangs so important for you to risk your freedom of disclosure?"

"Oh, _sensei_, _kusukusu_, that's a good one; I'm not saying I can't disclose the scoop. I'm just saying I can't explicitly name whom I speak of or whom my source might be, see?"

"Your offer sounds much more realistic when phrased in the proper semantics, Asakura-kun," remarked Negi as he sampled some more tea, thinking his possible moves over. The decision, though the Welsh boy might grow to regret it later, was obvious. "Very well, I accept your compromise, but I'm not doing any campaigning. I already think it a most bizarre choice sponsoring a teacher of all persons. ...I am aware of my status as something of a sex symbol on campus, but I think you are grossly overestimating my popularity."

"_Kyaaa_~! Oh, thank you, thank you, sensei!" Kazumi promptly rose from her couch, jumping up and down in a most mesmerizing way. "I promise, you won't regret this!"

Oh, he knew he would, and his sense of awful omens was never wrong, but in the meantime, Doctor N. Springfield thought he could content himself with the memory of discovering just how bounciful Kazumi Asakura could be, even in the relative safety of a bra. Naturally, his A.R. glasses was recording the entire event for posterity's sake on all feeds, a feature that none of his students likely were aware of at all. In fact, unless the professor wore them, his glasses turned into just another ordinarily stylish pair of frames, thanks to the wonders of advanced biometrics.

Hence, Negi had not been concerned in the slightest when he found Setsuna Sakurazaki wearing what rightly belonged to him.

"Consider this your belated White Day present, Asakura Kazumi, from me. I assume you have someone-"

"Oh, no way!" Kazumi interjected, ending his unexpected happiness as suddenly as it began. What a shame. "I don't have time to bother with trivial things like that..._but_~ I could settle for you from now on, if you like, _Ne_~_gi_-_sen_~_sei_."

Oh heavens no! ...though it did lend evidence to his suspicion that the infamous paparazzi girl may be one of the fabled Japanese "rotten girls", not in the sense she was a fan of taboo relations between men, but because Kazumi was so unlike the expected norm of the ideal Japanese girl. Fierce, independent, and willing to struggle against whatever adversity to have her way; she was arguably the polar opposite of Setsuna, which was not a bad thing.

Variety, after all, was the spice of life, and her information was good.

As for what Negi had to offer for his interview in true blue "spicy and cool" style:

"My name... Springfield, Ph.D. Age... Fifteen by sometime this fiscal year. I have no desire to tell you my likes and dislikes, of which there are many and few. Dreams for the future? _ À Vivre de Mon Seul Désir_. And I have many hobbies."

Kazumi looked ready to do more than her cheerleading routine after his statement, with such ferocity that the boy professor had to excuse himself conveniently, lest the hormonally imbalanced junior-high jailbait set upon him. Besides, he did have somewhere to be, namely the Yukihiro Estate, which had been built in the nearby hills around the Mahora Academy City, for dinner in the evening. The elegantly worded invitation in pen and paper no less had come through Anya originally, and urged himself to make an appearance as well, if appropriate.

In an era dominated by the convenience of technology, Negi could not possibly turn down such an old fashioned sentiment, though he admitted there was an ulterior motive on his part. Following her surprise birthday party, Asuna Kagurazaka had taken him aside in secret, blushing quite madly at that too, to ask him for a small favor, namely figure out some way to cheer up the class representative. The boy professor had been so absorbed in various endeavors that he had not noticed that Ayaka's exuberant enthusiasm had lost some of its dramatic flair as of late.

She would go herself, but Asuna figured her traditional rival could use some more "skillful" company. It was a reasonable request, and Negi was happy to oblige. Thus, he had his secretary seed the prospect of a small dinner party at the Yukihiro Estate, a task Anya did not relish in particular but obeyed all the same. She admitted she was somewhat interested to see how fabulously spoiled a bourgeoisie the second daughter of the Yukihiro Zaibatsu could be; the excesses of blue bloods always fascinated her in a macabre fashion.

That said, Asuna had been regrettably tight lipped about the cause of Ayaka's mild depression; hence, his close encounter with Kazumi. On the bright side, he learned some interesting things about Chisame Hasegawa, namely the girl's interest in computer may be a lot more than she let on, and she may or may not be an uproariously popular net idol, the present Queen of the Internet to be precise. Doctor N. Springfield could hardly wait to drag his highly probable closet narcissist, kicking and screaming, into the light, but such an amusing event would have to wait until he could confirm his good probable cause to be damning fact.

As for Ayaka's dossier, most of it was full of trite material he had no interest, but there were a few pearls of insight hidden amidst the chaff. The second daughter of the Yukihiro family turned out to be childhood friends of a sort with Asuna, having clashed head on since grade school. It seemed to a classic case of the prince and the pauper, minus the body double fiasco, manifest in their fiery friendship. Alas, in spite of being born with the silver spoon her mouth, all was not well, proving that even the rich were not immune to the cruel twist of fate.

So prior to dinner, while they all sat around sipping tea and speaking of pleasantries, The Doctor extended the offer for a dance lesson. Word of mouth had spread like wild fire of his prowess in the fine art, so naturally Ayaka jumped at the chance to experience the thrill more intimately than ever, having had a brief taste herself many months ago. Of course, he did not miss the blazing ignition of his dear Anya's green-eyed streak, back with a vengeance, so he smooth asked for the blessing of his baby cousin.

Having been put on the spot, and with the curious eyes and ears of Ayaka's many maidservants watching along side the sole gentleman, presumably the head footman, the Russian buckled under the pressure. She spluttered defensively in a round of crimson that her "big brother's business" was none of hers, so he could happily go date a human skull for all she cared. No, sir; Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova was not jealous in the slightest to see the primary male figure in her life within the arms of another female!

Hence, there was nothing wrong about her sitting in on the lesson to observe and make sure he did not do anything sordid towards the obviously defenseless and rightly honorable Ayaka Yukihiro. ...Negi sweated somewhat internally at her bluster, considering they had both seen the blonde-haired blue blood go to war with Asuna in a flurry of kicks and punches. The girls were not professionals, though he imagined Ayaka received some formal training at some point, but they could handle themselves relatively well in a fight.

Not that such a possibility concerned him particularly because Doctor N. Springfield was first and foremost a man of wisdom, secondly a cunning bastard, thirdly a smooth lover, and tenthly a god damn tenacious fighter. At least, it was something to the above effect, according to The Master. Kazumi's data theorized Ayaka may or may not be shotacon, what with her reputed preference for pure and innocent boys, but if so, she was far from immune to the magic of his charms.

In his expert opinion, Negi thought the girl dismally sheltered like the majority of students, and unused to interacting with boys who were actually honest to god men already. Such young men were a rare breed nowadays admittedly, most were not supposed to emerge until their high school years or later, but it was not as if they did not exist. Bloody hell, he was proof of the said mythical beast of possibility that such young men could be, for better or worse.

How fortunate The Doctor was happy to play the part of Hermes and tie the bonds of friendship stronger than ever. He could never, ever, replace Ayaka's tragically beloved little brother, not to mention the boy professor did not have the faintest clue what sort of fellow he would have become, given the opportunity. Still, for the evening, Negi was willing to entertain whatever whims his gracious hostess wished of him, well, within good reason.

He sent a meaningful glance in Anastasia's direction, whom immediately colored, and spoke loudly that she was feeling hot and bored, excusing herself in the company of a maidservant towards the garden for a little stroll. In fact, the rest of the staff seemed to be finding similarly convenient excuses to be elsewhere, emptying the ball room before long, save for the sole record player switched to play a more ambient, slow jazzy tune. It left Doctor N. Springfield in an unexpectedly rare but poignantly candid moment.

He was alone with a beautiful girl in his arms, stripped of all pretense, and a touch of tears sparkling like crystals on her cheeks.

"Dance with me again, _Mister_ _Springfield_?" the genuine Ayaka Yukihiro spoke his name huskily, a gibbous smile playing on her rouged lips, in nearly flawless English.

It was only natural he rose to the monumental occasion in kind.

"What kind of English gentleman would I be, if I refused the earnest tears of a lady? _I am yours, mi'lady_."

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Lightning update. I know. I felt this was too tasty not to share right away. Consider it an appetizer to the main course next week which ought to have some WAFF leading into fighting like a gentleman and elegantly handing you your boorish arse on a silver platter since ballin' was invented. The Dark Evangel will not be amused to get on the dance floor. Boogey. Boogey fever, baby.

_À Vivre de Mon Seul Désir_, an adulteration of a key motto. This phrase in particular translates literally as, "To live by my sole desire." The actual motto is far more obscure and vague on its meaning.

And another fair young lady or two has joined the club of females who may or may not do unspeakable things to The Doctor.

Thanks as always readers for your time and your reviews. Do look forward to the next show.

Laters.


	10. Chapter 10

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. WARNING: Diabetics beware and habitual rage-quitters. Now, on with the show, which unfortunately, is a longer than usual broadcast. ...I take full responsibility.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 10:

Pay it Forward

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

At the end of the Golden Week holidays, Doctor N. Springfield found himself in an unenviable predicament, one of which he had no ability to avoid or otherwise dump the responsibility on someone else more qualified. Bloody hell, there was no doubt he was the most qualified bachelor for the job, but nevertheless, he harbored his resentment at being abandoned to his fate so haughtily by Anya. Her plans for the day, an outing with the Narutaki twins to help familiarize herself with the academy, on the auspices of the Walking Club seemed far more desirable to the sadomasochistic farce Negi would have inhale straight through his ears.

At least she could have protested more at the unfair turn of Murphy, back for revenge, but no, his capricious secretary thought the punishment infernal to be all worth it.

Originally, the professor had set aside today, in particular, for a leisurely reacquainting with the many idling experiments in his magical atelier, having succeeded in stabilizing the dimensional rift (read: portal) at long last. The proof of his accomplishment, he determined after many a summoned gremlin no longer went through one end of the event horizon and came out the other end a gory pile of steaming hot ground beef, much to the macabre amusement of the Stakes. Instead, there he was in Harajuku, clad in a casual t-shirt, blue jeans, sneakers, and a denim jacket, doomed to wait in a small reclusive park for his "date" to arrive.

Doctor N. Springfield had even stooped as low as to ask the intern, Setsuna Sakurazaki, to vouch on his behalf, but in true Bushido fashion, she obeyed the law of her lord before his own protests. He could barely resist the urge to cut her a starkly dirty look in the middle of the Dean's office, never mind following through on Konoemon's word would more than even the score between them. His protest, though, was a matter of principle, not because Negi happened to find the Kantou Magic association's adolescent princess woefully ugly. What kind of teacher would allow himself to be his student's convenient substitute date, especially on such short notice, anyway?

Still (after he had thrown a good tantrum in private) given the unenviable task, he was never one to do a half-hearted job, so when the professor came around earlier to ask Setsuna for details on how to best handle the affair, her resigned response rather disappointed him. Of course, disappointment seemed euphemistic compared to the reality where the full fury of the shaming glare with which Doctor N. Springfield speared the source of his displeasure.

"Maybe I am hard of hearing, but would you kindly repeat the conceited diatribe you happened to grace my tested patience, Sakurazaki Setsuna-san?"

The raven-haired bodyguard colored appropriately in turn but held onto that ridiculous offset stare, as if she were looking right through him and not at him. It was a most annoying defensive tactic.

"It'd be-inconvenient, if I concerned myself with such things, Springfield-san," she replied to him huskily. The sudden confrontation between them, all over a statement of the facts was a wholly unexpected event.

"So..." Negi, though, was far from amused by her facade of obedient deference, or at least he told himself her present appearance was just that, "you are vouching you know nothing of Konoe Konoka-sama's personal preferences, dreams for the future, hobbies, or anything of the sort?"

"S, _Sensei_, please, you misunderstand. As a yojimbo, of course, I understand it's my duty to know something of the habits of my charge, but the details in particular you ask of... Konoka-_ojou_sama's favorite cuisine, what kind of clothes she likes, what locales she adores in Tokyo, subjects she's interested in discussing, and so on... Such things are extraneous information, and unnecessary, when it comes to the priority of her safety and well-being. In fact, I imagine... It would trouble her to know that the people charged with her precious life knew of such things."

"An invasion of privacy, you mean to imply?"

"Yes," believing perhaps he understood her rationale, Setsuna spoke now with renewed conviction, but Negi was far from satisfied.

"Atrocious. Simply, atrocious. This level of shoddy reasoning cannot possibly be enough to satisfy Doctor N. Springfield! If I had to score it, your thesis fails at fifty-nine points."

"A, Atrocious?"

"Do not tell me this is the result of your rationale after the seven months since I posit a question to you, Setsuna Sakurazaki."

Setsuna shuddered and bit her lip, exquisite anguish coloring that rare fine china-like complexion, as the little girl inside her head ran around in circles no doubt for a plausible retort. Negi was well abreast of her private misgivings and resentment of him, but an incorrigible quality of humans was contradiction, or in this case, she felt obligated to justify herself before an individual as respected as him, nevertheless. The sight of her struggling, squirming oh-so-cute~ly was like a sweet poisonous drug to him that flipped all the right switches, and he could barely resist the dark temptation to twist his clinically tender words some more.

It would not be fair, particularly in the enjoyment of the spirit, for him to make consecutive attacks, after all.

"B, but, Springfield-san! It... It'd just be more painful for Konoka-_ojou_sama wouldn't it? To burden her with even more responsibility?"

The Doctor arched an eyebrow at her surprisingly passionate protest, those normally sharp, fierce eyes clouding with a tarnish of unshed sorrow. Of course, passion without sound reasoning was just romantic naivety, and he had to admit his little dagger had found an acceptable edge to wield in her defense against him.

"Responsibility, you say?"

"Of course! The weight of life. ...It's big. It's heavy. It's not some cheap thing you can so easily toss aside! That girl... My... Our kind Konoka-_ojou_sama. Her shoulders are too small, so frail; too weak. She can't possibly bear such an unreasonable thing. To know someone she knew sacrificed themselves for her sake... The painful truth would crush her."

"And you think it is reasonable for you to pledge your life to such an unreliable person? Someone, you say yourself, so impotent and frail that they are in need of saving themselves?"

"Perhaps..." Setsuna drifted off, and after a moment's pause, planted her own subtly shivering hand upon her bosom. "Even so, I, too, am weak, Springfield-sensei. I, too, dream that I could become more... But it cannot be, must not be; it's unrealistic, irresponsible, because right now, I exist to give my life for Konoe Konoka-sama, the honorable princess of the Konoe Clan. ...And it will happen. Maybe not today, maybe tomorrow; the World we live in isn't so kind."

"Ha," Negi's lips parted into a hint of a smirk, "are you sure you are not denying yourself through your delusion of Bushido?"

A wane smile playing at her lips, the bodyguard replied to his skepticism, "M, Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not, but... Really, I'm glad I met such people. Some day, I'm sure the kind, though naive young mistress who wished to be my friend can become a great person, upholding the legacy wrought by her honorable parentage. The latter gave the unworthy me shelter and a chance to be of use, taught me to have pride in myself for who I am, and the former imparted the precious feeling of being treasured as a close companion."

She was sincere to which he had no doubts, much Negi's private joy and disappointment. It meant his words had not fallen on deaf ears, but it meant he was still doomed to go down the infernal creek without a paddle. The Doctor sighed, loping away from the secluded eave he had cornered his prey into subconsciously in the midst of his black fury, like a sanguine predator that had just lost interest in its food.

"...I ask but a candid moment here, Sakurazaki: you _really _do not know the answers to my questions?"

"S, Sorry, but I really don't know," Sestuna apologized, before letting out a faint dainty snort. Heavens only knows how she managed to make a snort look dainty to him. Maybe his tastes in cute things were just that unapologetically abnormal. "It's, _tee hee hee_, just like you say, isn't it, _sensei_? We're: Masters of Distance?"

Negi's long-suffering sigh deepened into a childish pout.

"I would assume you were close _once_, but I will not pry today, for both our sakes."

"Thank you very much, _sensei_," she thanked him. Funny, how they were about to go eat each other's throats maybe a scant minute or two ago.

"Although thanks to this talk, it does explain your thinking behind the tactics you employed up until now, when it came to overseeing the princess's safety."

"I'm but the shadow within the shadow of a tree that shades and protects Konoka-ojousama. ...For the present me, this is the best I can do for her."

Never one to be down for long, and happy to wrestle opportunity his greedy grasp when he saw it, Negi addressed her stoic reply with his own wry retort, "But what about the you of tomorrow?"

"Th, the me of tomorrow?" Setsuna blinked, taken aback by the last minute counterattack.

"_**Ha ha ha ha**_. _Interesting_. Very _interesting_! A sword that cares? _Heh he he he_. This level of reasoning is possible for Doctor N. Springfield! If I had to score it, your tasty revision is worth at least eighty points plus two for effort."

"S, _Sensei_, what do you mean?" said the raven-haired girl, her bewilderment coloring into scandalized worry as The Doctor's devilish play hit its full stride.

"Do not worry, do not worry; I will carry the both of you damsels in questionable distress on my shoulders for both our sakes. Who knew our favorite Sakurazaki Setsuna-san could have so many delightfully girlish facets to her beneath that exquisite veneer of sharp eyes like flashing blades?"

"S, S, s, S-Springfield-sensei!"

Suffice to say, Setsuna's protest fell on deaf ears, and she could only fret what diabolical ploys would befall her young mistress, while Negi went off, reenergized with an evident spring to his steps, to meet with the rest of the security detail. Including herself, there were thirteen individuals total assigned on a rotating basis to protect Konoka Konoe whenever she left the protective envelope of the Mahora Academy School District. The bodyguard girl was the only permanent member of the staff, although she deferred to the practical experience and seniority of the various adults and youths who came aboard depending on the shift.

Private security was a serious business, especially true in the grave undertaking of high-risk principals. The team leader in charge of the shift in particular surprised Negi by being a grizzled female for starters and a former Western Magister Magi to boot. He could not call her pretty but handsome certainly fit the bill, and her colleagues were an equally eclectic bunch, some local nationals, and the rest from all manner countries. It was a refreshing experience in the sense that Konoemon Konoe averted the classic trope of being a nationalistic bigot entirely, and was willing to hire the best regardless of superficial pre-existing basis.

In turn, Missus Gearhart was pleasantly surprised by his sense of professionalism, coming out on a limb to coordinate with the team no less. She was actually quite troubled herself at the last minute change of plans by her hoary boss, the Doctor's outreach should make the day go by easier. Her team's plan had always been simple, revolving around four two-man elements walking the beat, so to speak, which would maintain a security cordon worth one city block in any direction. Setsuna was usually the designated shadow, who could respond to emergent threats within the "green zone", while the remainder of the team stood on stand-by in an unmarked "safety" van providing support, tailing the V.I.P. within a reasonable radius.

Negi had his own callsign and a two-way radio smuggled away on his person just in case, but for the purposes of transparency, he would receive all of his updates through the raven-haired girl, unless something went horribly wrong. Missus Gearhart prayed today would not be the day that Murphy's Law decided to shat on her, considering she managed to go on for a good three years now incident free, while her colleague commiserated about constant headaches. Tokyo's undesirables always seemed to come knocking on their shifts for some reason or another.

The Doctor himself could only pray the cockroaches would not come out to exacerbate his already elevated stress levels. Goodness gracious, how he wished he had brought the Stakes of Purgatory along! Setsuna Sakurazaki's presence was acceptable, but having only her to rely on as his eyes and ears put him ill at ease, not because of her lack of competence but because of a lag in communications. The Sisters could relay information to him almost instantaneously, and it could make the difference in how he chose to resolve an incident should one happen to occur.

Ahhhh, but knowing my rotten luck today, something will happen on Children's Day no less, Negi groused silently having lost his good groove ever since the enormity of his situation came crashing back down, when he was dropped off at the park. Today was my last day of vacation too. Rotten. Simply, rotten. The only that can save me now is if Konoka-_hime_'s a total no show, when she hears about the change of plans. Namely, the girl decides to play delinquent games...

The Doctor would not begrudge her, of course, for standing him up, since his identity would not be revealed in the improvised spirit of the occasion. Bloody hell, if he was in her undesirable shoes, he would be playing funny game himself. Fourteen years of age alone was much too young for any sensible youths to be considering their soulmate for life already, especially when they still had their whole lives ahead of them in the relative safety of modern society's cocoon of convenience.

Though speaking of the devil, "_Fuwha_? N, Negi-sensei?" she did appear off to the side when he thought of her, just his luck.

Negi breathed, making a show of brushing up his glasses by the bridge in order to cast aside his misgiving, as a fresh breeze rustled through the assorted trees in a climatic crescendo. It was a beautifully sparkling day in Spring, blue skies, a handful of cloud, perfect weather for those oversized guppies the Japanese passed for carps to swim away in the wind from atop many a flagpole and a handful of festive blimps. Indeed, Children's Day was a holiday for a reason, so instead of him wasting energy by being such a sourpuss scrooge, the boy professor ought to put his game face on and use the opportunity to celebrate his own belated plans for Konoka Konoe's birthday, which he missed.

Of course, he also seemed to have missed a text message, unless Missus Gearhart played a practical joke on him for kicks. That woman...

Nevertheless, "Just for today, I will allow your Freudian slip to pass, Konoka-san," Negi acquiesced to the mood, turning to face his unwitting date.

The so-frigging-cute~! sight that greeted him did not disappoint for true to the season, Konoka had come dressed in a vibrant sky-blue yukata with floral prints, and an accompanying red obi sash. Her long chocolate locks had even styled for the occasion, parted at the forehead and trussed up with some girlish ornaments that embellished her youth. The functional purse she carried was also fashionable, although disappointingly the princess wore the traditional wooden sandals called geta and had no fan on her person.

It told Doctor N. Springfield three things: firstly, a quick getaway was not going to happen with Konoka Konoe encumbered like so; most likely, he would have to carry her across his shoulders, push comes to shove. Secondly, the fact she did not have a fan meant he was expected to attend the festivities at the Meiji Shrine or jump straight down the lion's throat at Yoyogi Park. Either locales promised their own blend of problems, as big crowds made it easier for potential assailants to slip in unnoticed with the high volume human foot traffic.

Last but not least, he had to wonder how she would look with glasses on. Hmmm, if The Doctor had to choose, the sanguine curves and distinctive shape of pillow-style eyeglasses would suit her smashingly. ...Ah. Bad Doctor. Very bad doctor! He must not fantasize about his pupils now, should he?

"Um, s, _sensei_, what are you doing here?" Konoka flushed, her evidently embarrassed surprise deflecting his wry retort like child's play, much to his regret.

"Surprise, surprise, and congratulations, I am your escort, otherwise known as a date, for today. Oh, and please, drop my title for now; Springfield-kun or Negi-san will do."

"M, my date?" her brown eyes wide, she cupped her cheek in a cutely dainty gesture that caused a stir in Negi, despite his best efforts to resist. Perhaps, he had been wrong to dismiss her so quickly on their first disastrous meeting? ...And was that a hint of lipstick he saw?

"I am aware you were here for a marriage interview, but due to circumstances beyond our control, here I am."

But when the professor made to step up for a closer look, he was surprised to see Konoka pout at him crossly with a coquettish huff, hands on her hips, as he approached. "Gramps put you up to this, didn't he?"

"And if I said, yes?"

"Gosh! I can't believe the nerve of him, and I can't believe I let myself be convinced into coming out here too."

Ah, so she was not displeased with him; that is a promising start, thought Negi clinically. "I heard him bemoan how you ran away from your last interview."

"Well, what did you expect, sen...um, N, Negi-san? I mean, he was almost old enough to be my father. Any normal girls would get the creeps and want to run away! Right, right?"

Her blushing reluctance at speaking his first name was a good sign that his upright reputation at school had staying power. "I could not agree more, but for our sake's, I promise to give today my all, so please do not jilt me without the good grace of slapping me in the face for my blunder first, yes?"

"_Tee hee hee_, oh, N, Negi-san, I would never do something horrible to you. Promise!"

"Konoe-san, unless you mean your promise in the sense of pinky swearing and hoping you die by swallowing a thousand needles, my confidence is skeptical, if you do not mind me saying."

He expected her to be offended by his wry skepticism, failing to grasp his affectionate wit, but Konoka bucked his expectations with surprising gusto. She laughed, "You meanie~! Come here!"

Eh? was all Negi's sophisticated thought patterns managed to splutter, as his brain promptly froze, crashed, and burned in a terrible fire of passions at the abrupt impetus of skin on skin contact, transforming his person into a literal lightning rod of stimulation. The scent of her shampoo wafting innocently into his nose, Konoka's slender silken fingers intertwined with his own, and her body snuggling close to his arm, all happening in a red hot flash. It culminated into a singular conclusion that he could not deny.

The great and devilishly handsome Doctor N. Springfield was rendered speechless by the innocent spontaneity of a backwater princess, executing all the grace a silly farm girl might have in accosting a ranch hand she happened to fancy. He was used to taking the first step, especially considering how caustic the impressions he gave off his glorious person could be for the average laymen. Bloody hell, Negi expected the princess to have lingering misgivings about him, but it appeared he had repaired his image with her all too well.

When he came to his senses, alas, he was in for another shock upon discovering Konoka's pretty face edging rather intimately close with him, in spite of the height difference, "_Tee hee hee_, now: at least call me, Konoe-chan, and you've got yourself a deal, Ne~gi~-san."

"If you promise this stays between us, unless we happen to get drunk at the same party together," Negi deadpanned, again making a show of adjusting his glasses coolly. In reality, though, he could not be further from cool, trying desperately to gather his scrambled faculties, and convince himself that there was no way an inexperienced maiden like Konoka Konoe could be having such a crippling effect on his composure.

Goodness, just half a year ago, he was running his mouth at the folly of his teachers and colleagues in The Society being duped time and time again by such a classical fallacy. It would be very difficult for him to mock them in the future should word of today's incident get out, and smelling blood in the sand, the vultures would all descend at once to make a spectacle out of him. Bloody hell, Negi could hear the jeers and feel the smirks now, e.g. "Awww, is that not most fascinating? Little Negi finally discovered his hormones!"

"O~kay~! Yup, yup, it's not a problem at all~!" Konoka giggled, snuggling closer to his arm like an overly affectionate puppy. She seemed to be totally dense, concerning the effect her warm blooded person was having on him. Though the princess of the Kantou Magic Association was not as bouncifully comely as her more glamorous classmates, the equipment she possessed at present could still have a devastating impact on an unprepared male.

"Well, then, shall we be off, Konoe-chan? The day is still young, and the festival at Meiji Shrine I doubt will wait for us."

"_Uuun_! Let's begin, Springfield-kun!"

Doctor Negi Springfield discovered the said truth for himself, and he swore never to underestimate the passive-aggressive Yamato Nadeshiko like girl again. The fact she was ignorant of her true birthright seemed to only enhance the effect of the surreal experience even more, wreaking havoc with his tightly disciplined hormones. Of course, it did not help that he was an English gentleman and found it impossible to refuse the majority of her apparently innocuous requests, such as wishing to walk with him arm in arm.

In fact, he would bet the Stakes that she was using her seemingly demure body against him on purpose to restrict his available move against her on the chessboard. How frustrating! The Lord Wizard Marshal was right. Women could bring out the best and the worst in men, as Negi came to understand a new light in the ancient wisdom his primary magic teacher had imparted on him so long ago.

They talked much about nothing on the way to Meiji Shrine, as the vast urban sprawl of the Tokyo metropolitan area offered plenty of comical asides for them to pass the time. If they ever ran out of interesting adverts in the visually dense landscape of neon Chinese characters and Japanese syllables set to maximum saturation, or about all the human eye can handle before inducing a wave of nausea on the observer, there was the curious attentions of the voyeurs. Konoka was likely already attractive for her age and a real draw to those with an eye for traditional fashions, but putting Konoka next to an auburn-haired foreigner in cool denim with a sophisticated mean, walking together arm in arm, and it was an instant recipe for celebrity status in the bustling streets of Harajuku.

He could hear the hushed gossip and the snap of camera lens shutters from miles away, much to Negi's chagrin. There was little to do but politely ignore the amateur paparazzi and continue their perfect couple act, _moe _and _sunao_-cool, all the while he prayed silently that when the photos hit the internet, at least their anonymity would be preserved somewhat. The last thing the boy professor wanted to deal with at school was a raving mob of schoolgirls vying for a once in a blue moon chance of him taking them out on a "secret date".

Negi, still, valiantly adhered even now that he had no interest in such flighty, whimsical harpies, whom quite frankly did not give a damn about the real him. The Negi Springfield they wanted was Professor Negi Springfield, the new debonair ace of a teacher, born genius, and all too easy on the heartstrings. If they only knew the truth, **ha**, they would revile him no different than The Beast from _La Belle et la Bête_.

The carnival at Meiji Shrine did not disappoint with many a vendor standing by already at their stores, harking their wares in a bustling open free market. Families, young adults, and youths of all ages milled about the place in a menagerie of color and excitement, a rare spectacle in the rather proprietary nature of Japanese society. Naturally in following with tradition, Negi insisted they go to offer their obligatory prayers and offerings up at the temple first, before returning to sample the sights and sounds.

Konoka made to give him a hard time at first, judging by the now familiar pout she brandished at him like a katana, but promptly thought better in an almost spastic twist back to a full blown smile. In the short time they had spent together, the boy professor realized the Konoka Konoe with him now was quite different from her face persona in class. The princess, arguably, was almost as finicky as himself, but he attributed her whims more to her youthful inexperience rather than his own bizarre eccentricity.

Why Konoka changed her mind in particular remained a mystery for another time, perhaps, for him to uncover; in the meantime, he was happy to settle that the girl thought it appropriate he had a grasp for Japanese culture. Though as revenge, she was annoyingly coy about what she wrote in her alms when he broached the subject offhand, not that Negi was any better himself. Never mind the novelty of prayer had long since reached a moot point for him, after all the bowel movement-inducing terror he had experienced, usually at the hands of so-called gods.

Still, it was an expected gesture so he put his best foot forward, and the fact the sentiment provided a permissible topic did not hurt him either.

"Speaking of wishes, I am quite impressed with your academic record, Konoe-chan."

Konoka paused comically in her nibbling of a delectable mochi rice cake, filled with azuki jam, the act of which reminded him of a rabbit. They had stopped for a brief siesta under a shaded bench what with the sun coming out overhead in full frontal force at high noon, requiring the purchase of a seasonal fan for the princess, a mask, and a paper folded helmet in the vein of the traditional Japanese _kabuto_. Naturally, Negi paid for the refreshments and the fan, but the mask and the helmet had been indulgence on Konoka's part, and she refused for him to have any part in the matter.

"My grades, Springfield-kun? What about it?"

Thus, the irony of his observation was made all the more true by the rabbit mask tied askew upon her person, while he sported a new tacky helmet on his mop.

"No offense to the company you keep, but for you to be in the top one-hundred percentile of the student body is quite a feat."

"Hey, Asuna-chan, isn't all bad. That girl just has her own pace, see? ...although it would be nice if she slowed down more often and kept me company from time to time. I worry she'll turn into a workaholic."

"I doubt it would be a detriment if her work ethic applied to her studies as well, but I do believe we digress from the subject of you, yes?" Negi raised his brow wryly, having seen through the princess amateurish diversion, though he would commend her initiative. "Unless you happen to be a talented student by birth, I would imagine you are working towards some dreams, no?"

"_Mou_, Negi-san," Konoka pouted cutely, sticking her tongue at him in a childish whimsy, "it's common sense, isn't it that I'd have dreams of my own? _Boo_! I'll have you know I'm a perfectly healthy young girl. ...but it is true, I'm still just a child. I don't really know anything for myself, even so I... I still have a lot of things, like a mountain or two's worth, I want to do, you see? Why do I have to deal with something unreasonable as deciding on a husband anyway? It's not like mommy is going to get any better because I got married. It'll only get in the way."

The Doctor thumbed his chin thoughtfully at her riposte. It was refreshing for him to hear that the princess of the Konoe clan did not fit the idealistic mold of a doormat Yamato Nadeshiko to the hilt, possessing a reserve of fire underneath all that demure aesthetic. "Get in the way, you say?"

"_Uunn_! You might not ever guess, but really I want to become a doctor, a really, really good one at that too, Negi-kun, so I can help all kinds of people, especially my mommy!"

_Tsk_. Girl. I never gave you permission to use my first name like that...but I will forgive you on account of the moment. Besides, you have piqued my interest... I do not think it unreasonable to ask you not bore me, yes? Thus, acknowledging her enthusiasm with a nod, Negi encouraged the excited girl to continue, "A noble dream, though you speak of your honorable mother in partic-"

He definitely was not expecting to cut off by an embarrassed interjection by Konoka, "Oh my! Ah ha ha ha. That's no good! That's so not good at all. Ah ha ha ha! S, Sorry, I didn't mean to kill the mood, Negi-san."

Her apologetic words threw him out for the loop, as she cunningly turned the tables, his bewildered mind struggling to iron out the sudden absurd inconsistency. If anything, he should be the one apologizing for prying, but somehow the roles became reversed!

"Ah... Please, if it is not too much of a bother, I would be happy to hear you out."

Now, a tense silence descended betwixt them as all the vibrant cheer on Konoka Konoe's pretty face bled out all at once, much to Negi's alarm. What in the world was going on? Had he... Had he, the great Doctor Negi Springfield, taught by some the best dashing rogues to ever grace the universe, just blundered over a female? Impossible!

"...Maybe," then the curious princess began again in a coy whisper, edging closer to him. He could not help but be reminded of the sensuous image of the fabled servants of Inari, mystical foxes able to take absurdly attractive human forms.

Clearly, the researcher who wrote the entry on the subject forgot to mention that attractive did not necessarily have to equate to being bounciful! Yes, like any respectable male, Doctor N. Springfield happened to fancy geometric curves and supple fullness, but he also happened to love an alluring mystery as well.

"Maybe, if I were to...?"

"If you promise to spirit me away again, _tee hee hee_, that is!" Konoka broke out in a girlish laugh, discarding her brief almost adult-like charm like yesterday's perfume for her usual exuberant innocence.

As relieved he might be to see her back to normal, the boy professor paled mentally at the condemning move she had made on their chessboard. Goodness, anything but that...! And here he thought she was not playing seriously? Ha, how wrong of him to presume otherwise, even if the princess was just making instinctive maneuvers without realizing the bigger picture.

"That I think I can do, Konoe-chan, if you can promise not to go _**mad **_over me."

Oh gods, why in the bloody hell was his halfwit mouth moving on its own, without his conscious input? He could understand it was an issue of his injured vanity having now passed the point of no return, as Konoka Konoe had made him stumble. Others may think it foolish, but to Negi, the challenge to understand the puzzle behind the seemingly innocent country bumpkin princess was as important as any matter of honor!

...Although he bemoaned in private, did he not promise himself seven months ago that getting involved with the nobility, especially so-called princesses, was a rutting rotten idea and a international incident waiting to happen!

"Mad?" she asked him with a quizzical stare.

"The nefarious seed begins typically with innocent interest that leads to attraction, then obsession, and the rotten fruit may then bloom into love...or _worse_," Negi answered shamelessly. His impetuous audacity sparked another round of laughter from Konoka, never mind to him, it was simply a matter of stating well-known facts.

"Oh, Negi-kun, you meanie~! Why in the world would I become hot for my own teacher?"

Again with such bold language, though verily, her words rammed home the point Konoka Konoe was just an ordinary girl underneath all that purebred finery.

"Although if I had a brother... A big brother. _Tee hee hee_, no~! _Kya_, _kya_, _kya_. A knight in shining armor!"

The Doctor could see where his date's delusional daydream and saw an opening for a counterattack, one he had no intention of passing on.

"As much as I hate to disappoint, I have to break with convention here," Negi cleared his throat conversationally in preparation for the temporary change of his usual debonair drawl. "Certainly, Miss Konoe, I fancy I am a sav~vy Eng~lish gent, but I have been told too many times ta count that as the Bloody Yanks reckon me, I am more the cowboy, a peacemaker ridin' atop a steel horse, with a loaded six string on his back. I'm wanted: Dead-or-Alive, at least, so I've told."

If there was anyone to be blamed, then the culprit had to be Mister Haken Browning. The cool, chivalrously snarky, yet slightly lecherous former bounty hunter found himself often paired up with The Master, his long time rival in _The Society_, on particularly outrageous assignments, which was when Negi met him. The men had their disagreements, almost like quarreling siblings really, and they could argue over just about anything, including the subject of himself. Suffice to say, there was little doubt Browning was one of the boy professor's many surrogate parental figures, as his influence on Doctor N. Springfield was self-evident.

"_Ah ha ha ha_, what was that supposed to be, Springfield-kun?"

"I call that my Ameri-Japan-glish accent. Savvy, huh?"

"No way~, but... Even if you were a _ronin _cowboy, I'd still be happy, _sensei_," she told him, gently bopping his cheek with a slender digit, almost switching their places in this strange blossoming relationship for a brief moment.

Negi sighed inwardly. The mystery seemed to have bit deep into his jugular, after all. There was no turning back now. "Be careful what you wish for, Konoe Konoka-kun, but since you asked for it, here is what I propose. As you can imagine, our encounter here is most likely a one-time fluke."

Her smile wavered with melancholy, but again, Konoka brightly laughed it off with a clap.

"I know, I know. There's no way my Grampa would get a clue short of Kichijouten-sama descending to earth and smothering him almost to death with her August boobs!"

"Ah..."

"I mean, he's so~ out of fashion. Doesn't he know that foreigners make the best partners? _Ufuu_~, I'd bet my fighting panties that Springfield-kun will become even more handsome in the future!"

Negi felt a downpour of sweat beginning to accumulate on his person, along with that familiar electric itch in his palms. Dangerous, dangerous; he was treading on some deadly ground here! Oh mercy, let it be so that he saw things for more than they were because of a distortion caused by the Spring humidity. "Please, do not joke so irresponsibly about people's fortunes; you never know when someone might be listening in."

"Why not? I haven't been happier on a date since you came along to play with me today, Ne~gi~-san!" caroled Konoka in a fit of warm giggles, as she impetuously latched onto his arm again like a lost puppy.

Damnation. Why was he losing? How could he be losing to Konoka Konoe of all people? His theory was sound and his training came from some of the best in the business, but here he was being forced to dance at the whim of a passive-aggressive rabbit? Ugh, how the mighty have fallen.

Doctor N. Springfield gave a longsuffering sigh, trying his best to block out that alluring sweet scent, as he turned his head the other way, resting his chin upon an upturned palm.

"Goodness, you are so spoiled."

"_Tee hee_, I'm just a kid~, remember? It's a child's right to be spoiled, sen~sei~!"

"There is no way I can tell him to get his old fool mind checked in to the mental health clinic over your marriage interviews, Konoe Konoka."

The chocolate-haired girl blew a raspberry up at him, "_Boo_~!"

"But, may-be, I will come out and play with you again sometimes," Negi huffed coolly in return, igniting the metaphorical gunpowder she had already sprinkled all over herself. The result was obvious and excitable.

"_Fuwha_? R, Really~?"

"May-be, girl. Maybe. ...And as long as I am here, well, I do seem to be his favorite golden boy, so I will do what I can to protect your precious childhood while it lasts."

"_Mou_, Ne-gi-san, you're so dishonest," again Konoka pouted at him, but it seemed her displeasure was just for fun, as she snuggled closer to him than ever before, much to Negi's private headache. "Can't you just say you want to protect me?"

"Your prissy side is showing its thorns, Konoe-chan. I am your teacher. Of course, I want to protect you, and all of my students."

"...Then, I'm..." the Kantou princess paused, her silence loosing waves of uncertain consternation that exacerbated the electric itching in his palms to near intolerable levels. It appeared the portcullis hanging over his head was about to descend at long last, and with Konoka Konoe clinging to him, there would be no escape for The Doctor from Konoe castle. "I'm relying on you, okay? A, and you'd better work hard! Girls are very delicate, don't you know."

Crash; there he was doomed now as a temporary retainer in full to the princess. Negi could hear the chorus of mocking laughter coming from the nosebleed section already, like a rain of sticks and mud. "Ha, I would dare you to tell that to some of the girls I have had the pleasure of knowing as colleagues, but I doubt it would end well for you, Konoka-san."

"_Mou_...meanie."

But even if he was doomed, it did not mean he ought to just bite out his stomach, keel over, and die, without a fight. No self-respecting English gentleman would ever allow himself to meet such an ignominious end without fighting with his all to claw his way back into prominence!

"Heh. Well, shall we head back? Tomorrow promises to be a busy day, and I do hope you have done all your assignments over break already, or else... I suspect you will be joining my afterschool remedial lessons very shortly."

"_Fuwha_?" Konoka gasped wide-eyed at him. "N, Noo~! Absolutely not! Anything but remedial lessons, Springfield-kun, have mercy on me!"

"Then for both our sake's, I hope Kagurazaka and the rest of the Baka Rangers did not have a lapse in memory."

"...Ah."

"It is exhausting for the unfortunate person having to re-teach the lessons to them, too, do you not realize?"

Indeed, it went well, almost too well by anyone's wildest projections, in fact. Never mind there was a slight hiccup at the end with Negi being forced to carry the young miss away post-haste, bridal style, when he was alerted by text to the fact that three of his own students from Class 3-A were moments away from a collision course. Even then, the Magister Magi was magnificent, with Konoka clinging excitedly his to jacket, as he deftly evaded the notice of the marauding Cheerleaders Trio, who happened to be on location to celebrate the same event.

Given the gift of hindsight, it was if Lady Luck herself had blessed that first innocent dance between the two young humans...but why did the aftermath leave **Her **feeling so desolate, so..._empty_? **She **did not understand. **Her **ignorance bled into **Her **sorrowful eyes, shamefully downcast, begging for answers from someone, anyone, and lo and behold did the darkness within shadows answer. Warmly embracing the black figure, clad in condemned wings of pure white sheathe, from behind and whispering sweet nothings into **Her **ears, did Leviathan of Envy appear, wearing a cruel, sanguine smile.

Forgive the Sin.

* * *

On principle, Doctor N. Springfield refused any and all entreaties from his secretary, after the fact, to extol upon the juicy details of his outing with Konoka Konoe. If he was not going to spill the ugly visceral truths to the Sisters of Purgatory, then Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova was not going to get a peep out of him, either. Goodness, could she not grasp the concept of confidentiality at all, such as in the case of what goes on between a boy and a girl should remain in the same fashion of men and women?

Mister Browning probably said it best. "Look here, folks, I reckon it's none of your damn beeswax, unless you want me to ram this whole cheapskate welcome wagon through where God's sun-shine ain't supposed to shine. So. Skedaddle!"

Of course, she was a sore sport, much like the equally delightful and devious Stakes, and slinked away to sulk like an abused puppy, much to his chagrin. Why Negi's inky black heart nearly burst from his chest seeing his favorite poison pink polka dot chihuahua act so coy! Ah, the things he suffered in the name of greatness.

Oh well, The Doctor reckoned he could cheer his secretary up with a few gifts of sinfully delicious confections, crafted by his own hand, because as much as she decried such things, Anya still ate them anyways. If only the troubles of the new academic year could be solved so easily, Negi imagined he could reach the age of twenty without all of his hair turning grey from stress. The newest intriguing calamity began right on the morning after, when he was informed tactfully by the ever voluptuous Shizuna-sensei of a problem.

To his credit, Negi managed to resist the temptation to explode from behind bureau in an apoplectic tantrum, which seared rebelliously in his veins like red hot iron, upon hearing the ill news that one of his students had been "attacked". Being the mature young adult he was, the professor subtly excused himself, hoping to be the first one to speak with Makie Sasaki, one of his very own Baka Rangers, before the rest of the class got there and smothered her for details. The plan seemed plausible, considering Class 3-A was scheduled for a much belated health and fitness screening. As an added bonus, his lovely colleague would be running interference too.

According to Shizuna-sensei, some patrolling campus police officers found Makie unconscious on cherry blossom street, with a discarded bucket of bathing supplies nearby. There was no evidence of foul play curiously enough, and not wishing to cause an unnecessary ruckus, they had tactfully contacted the school right away, before having her admitted to the school nurse. The curious intrigue only became more confounding as a preliminary examination by the nurse concluded with no traces of trauma on the student athlete's person, save for a decrease in her blood pressure and pulse.

Out of respect, the nurse excused herself, though not before warning him that his pupil had only just regained consciousness and was in no condition for any excitement. Alas, when it came to the rascals of 3-A, the best laid of plans went the way of mice and men, meaning "Not as Planned!" Negi barely got a word in edgewise on an evidently exhausted Makie, before the door to the clinic nearly burst open, admitting in a tide of scandalously exposed estrogen. The boy professor could only avert his gaze and massage his temples in silent, mortified exasperation at a perfectly ruined "interview", while the nurse came roaring back in, trying to restore order.

In the end, Negi, too, had to divert his energies to shepherding the flock of his excited girls back from whence they came, although he was curious how they managed to catch wind of Makie Sasaki's condition so quickly. Afterward, a word with his presumed suspect, Kazumi Asakura, revealed that the nefarious paparazzi did not have her muddy paw prints all over the sensational fiasco. In fact, it was the unwitting panic of Class 3-A's very own Ako Izumi, a student volunteer in the Health Committee, who had opened Pandora's Box.

Much to his private concern, the girls disturbingly embraced the news of such a heinous attack with open arms, gossiping wildly about the nature of the attacker. Doctor N. Springfield, seriously, had to wonder on the mental health of his students. The abysmal thought that there could be a sexual predator on the loose in the district did not seem to occur to their foolheads at all, instead romanticized delusions of vampires and chupacabra were winning the popularity races of the day. It vexed him, made the outraged boy want to cry out at their heartless insanity.

No, Negi had to convince himself lest he came to loathe his pupils. It was not madness. This was just human cowardice, masking their darkest fears in ridiculous flights of fancy! Yes. That had to be the correct answer

That said, The Doctor would be fool to discount utterly the possible truths of such wild rumors, because as a matter of fact, he knew vampires existed. Still, the odds of Konoemon Konoe allowing such a potentially dangerous being to prey within his territory sounded absolutely preposterous, a fact Setsuna vouched for vehemently, when he questioned her later that evening at the emergency team meeting he called. Anastasia, too, seconded the motion.

Vampires were notoriously arrogant creatures of the night, and the newly blooded ones were not well known for curbing their rapacious appetites. The entirety of the Mahora Academy School District could become under siege by an infestation of the living dead within weeks, as the city lacked the capability to deal with such a menace. Thus, it was the consensus that Makie's attacker could not possibly be such an awful beast.

The fact remained, however, that Negi could not allow an insult of such gross magnitude to go unanswered. There was an offending cretin of the worst kind lurking in the shadows of his jurisdiction, and it was only by dumb luck that his primary charge had not been ravaged herself! Verily, he reckoned the incident to be on par with an act of war, the Doctor demanded the sick bastard be castrated and hung from a flagpole in front of the nearest police station post-haste.

Setsuna could not agree more with his righteous vendetta, a notion that the Stakes trumpeted enthusiastically in their incorporeal forms, but of course, Anastasia had to walk over and twist him by the ears, violently. It hurt a lot for Negi let loose a near unholy string of oaths, questioning the sexual orientation of her father to the equivalence of baboons in heat. The Russian only smiled and returned the favor with a wicked head but to his face, made possible by his seated position at the dining table, much to the bodyguard girl's disbelieving awe.

Aside from a piece of gauze to cover a fresh bruise on his cheek, Doctor N. Springfield was none the worst for wear, other than his bleeding pride. His mercilessly bemused secretary then informed him he was running late for his patrol shift tonight, so instead of sitting here beating his chest in righteous indignation, he ought to shut up, nut up, and get his arse on the street where he was required. Also, while he was making his rounds, Negi could also pull his head out of his high fluting arse and consider the costs and consequences of his proposed brand of vigilante justice.

Gorging on their young master's discontent and enjoying every moment of his savory anguish, The Sisters of Purgatory decided to retire early, leaving him alone in peace. Thus, after being embarrassed so thoroughly, it did not take the Magister Magi long to figure out the reason why his darling comrade, Anya, had beaten some sense into him. Charlotte's Web, the present tentative codename for the magical remote autonomous observation network developed by the former ace child auror, did not have an infinite number of resources. Its capabilities were fully committed twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week to the protection of one person alone, and as nobly intention Negi was, he must not forget his priorities.

As a teacher, he was obligated to the welfare of all his students, but as a mage, there was only one person he had eyes for and must not allow any harm to befall her, come hell or highwater. The case of Makie Sasaki was regrettable; however, it was not permissible to dedicate the fullest extent of their assets for her sake. Konoka Konoe came first above all other extenuating circumstances, period.

And so Doctor N. Springfield sulked grumpily in the hood of his windbreaker, like a moody child denied of his favorite toy by his siblings. Truly, he wanted what was best for Makie, but the matter was not a battle for him to fight. The princess of the Kantou Magic Association was by far too important for Negi to be lax in his primary duties, especially with a possible threat now roaming the streets of his jurisdiction at night.

Goodness, he could only pray she would not decide to leave the safety of her dormitory this evening, but in his heart of hearts, Negi longed for such an event to occur, so that the disgusting animal who had the nerve to lay hands upon one of his students would an misstep tonight on his watch. The moonlit world bloomed with a wistfully eerie breeze, who knew of what misfortune a craven lusty-hearted bandit might encounter, no? Lady Luck would do good on her reputation as a cruel mistress, certainly, and deliver the unwitting oaf into his eager hands, ready to extract his pound of flesh.

Anya implied he was beyond his right to go looking for trouble, but there was nothing wrong about trouble happening to come along and be introduced to his fist, yes? Alas, little did Doctor N. Springfield know, he was about to get a whole lot more than he wished for than in his wildest expectations, and it all started with a beeping cellphone text alert. The words illuminated on the small LCD screen, instantly, made him lose his color.

With no further preamble, he altered his patrol course, making a beeline straight for the girl's dormitory. The lit street lamps flashed by in a blur, and upon his timely arrival, the concerned professor spotted his designated V.I.P. leaving the building. It was not the first time Konoka Konoe had left the sanctity of her dorm room to make an evening errand run by herself to his experience, as the demure girl did not wish to bother her roommate, especially during the weekdays. Asuna Kagurazaka had to be in bed early, so she could make her early morning paper route on time, and as a rule of thumb, a well rested Asuna made for a happy Asuna.

Sleep deprived cowbell girl Asuna was a nightmare that made hormonally imbalanced expectant mothers seem tame in comparison, and she was too dumb and cranky in such a state to be an adequate playmate to him. Thus, Negi was all for his pet project to get all the sleep she could, prior to school or take catnaps when appropriate. His present predicament, however, could not wish for more that Asuna had decided to come out this evening with her dear friend because it did not take a multi-talented boy genius like him to figure where she was going.

Doctor N. Springfield's palms began to itch in that peculiar characteristic electric burn fashion, to which he had long since become acclimated.

Konoka Konoe had plotted a course that would take her straight through the now infamous Cherry Blossom Street, and the condemning evidence of a digital camera and flashlight said volumes of her intentions. He expected an individual more in the vein of Kazumi to be out and about, chasing such wild fantasies, but to think the Dean's precious granddaughter would debut on the stage was shocking. Then again, the paparazzi girl had told him explicitly she did not believe in such things and mused it was likely the botched handiwork of some craven fiend.

Kazumi expressed she was nowhere near crazy enough to make like a vigilante in the night and go expose such a nasty fellow on her own, especially within the critical period of the new school year. Of course, if the good Doctor were to volunteer to be her gallant bodyguard, she might reconsider the venture. Negi, on principle, flatly denied such foolishness; leave it to the police, even if in private his thoughts were very different from his words.

So what on Earth could motivate Konoka to be gallivanting out here like some halfwit amateur photojournalist, with a ridiculous vapid smile on her face? ...Wait a minute, The Doctor frowned. He felt like the answer to his question was right on the tip of his tongue. Indeed, if he were to think back to the beginning of the suspenseful mystery, he vaguely recalled someone championing the completely ridiculous business of vampires and chupacabra rather enthusiastically...

Oh, bloody hell... Negi came to a dead stop, all the color draining from his stricken gaping face, as if he had been winded by a stunning blow to the gut. That's right. The princess' dossier from when I took over even said she was part of the Fortune Telling Research Society... Therefore, it would not be a terrible stretch to presume that she had an interest in THE OCCULT too!

"_Kyaaaaaaaaa_~!" right on cue, Murphy's Law did not disappoint him by turning a bad day into a rutting awful night. The shrill scream belonging to none other than the princess was all the confirmation needed for the Doctor to regain his wits and run for his life. God, how he hated it when his hunches proved damningly correct in an unproductive manner.

Adrenaline paved the way to his destination without fuss or mess, as old routines and habits filed away neatly in the shelves of his mind came to fore once more. Switching the A.R. glasses autosenses to active scanning, in spite of the potential drawbacks, and reactivating the visual autocensor filters, all were pre-battle checks he always used to do like breathing. The universe was a dangerous place, and tonight, he could not be more worried that all he had to rely on was himself and a wand.

Doctor N. Springfield had not come ready for war, but he would have to make do, adapt, and survive.

The sight that greeted him at the end, though, made him question why on Earth he had run so hard to get here, for it was something like an overly melodramatic confrontation ripped straight from an anime! All the lamp posts along Cherry Blossom Street had gone dark, the eerie air filled with pink dancing petals in visible ebbs and flows, as the virgin moon cackled callously at the foolishness of mortals beneath her. There he spotted the unmoving form of Konoka Konoe splayed out on the ground, a grim black shadow looming over her.

Negi could scarcely believe the nightmare scenario his eyes were forced to swallow, and the numbers did not lie. Bloody hell, the diminutive owner of the blonde tresses snaking out from underneath the brim of a bent over witch's hat, all black to match the worn cloak she wore, tattered around the edges from wear and tear, could not have picked a more cliché outfit. The sinuous material seemingly moving with a life of its own in the wind screamed the spitting image of a "Black Witch".

She lifted a fair, ivory hand to tip the brim of her conical topped hat at him. "Good evening, sir. 'Tis a perfect night, is it not so?"

Her honey-toned utterance of English, regal and acerbic, was a feast to his ears, with an intriguing accent refined from many a place: the vineyards of Bordeaux, the old heartland of Brittany, and the Scottish highlands to name a few.

"The kind of blood-crazed night that makes me want to have a _**bite **_to drink."

So she spoke to him, a child and yet not, smiling wantonly. He would have to be blind to miss the silvery gleam of unusually sharp canines, now partially elongated, arrayed amongst the rows of her all-too-perfect white teeth that proved to be the last straw that broke the camel's back. Doctor N. Springfield felt the tense bead of sweat sliding down his cheek, as he wished it was not so, but the darkly apparition before him would not go away. Reality could be hard and bizarrely cruel.

Had he been a "normal" person the Magister Magi imagined he would have tried to make lemonade with the lemons life had just handed him, but Doctor Negi Springfield, Ph.D., was not "normal"-normal, he was **extraordinary**.

"Ho there, you shitty flea-bitten loli swamp leech, get your rotting carcass off my student! I hear excessive exposure to formaldehyde, usually by inhalation, can be toxic, allergenic, and carcinogenic, so I would appreciate most your unwilling cooperation, while I dial One-One-Nine for the special **garbage **disposal unit."

He would have a bloody martini on the rocks, _shaken_, not stirred.

YEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Damnation. This one's long. AGAIN. I really need to wrestle my creative vision under control. Cultural edumacation abound, WAFF, and references scattered here and there, some obscure, some obvious. Oh, and I hope, interesting plot and character developments too. _Hu hu hu hu_…

I hope you all will continue to offer The Doctor your best and not so best wishes, as he continues to diversify unwittingly his fan club. ...Although you'll have to wonder if he'll decide to break the time honored tradition that there will be no L-word in the TARDIS. It's like a taboo, yeah? Then again, at the rate he's going, he would not know what the L-word is if it bit him in the arse like a bullet.

As for Evangeline, if she thought Anya and Asuna had it bad, ho boy, she has seen NOTHING yet! And what better way for her to learn than up close with the man, the myth, the legend himself? …She'll be wishing she was still stuck on Nagi because when you have Doctor N. Springfield fever, it is a nonstop infinite climax action! …yeah.

Any terms I want to extol upon? Well, just a few maybe.

Harajuku, arguably the fashion capital of Japan for the young and wild, where a broad spectrum of styles ranging from Gothic Lolita to punk make there home; it is located in the Shibuya ward of Tokyo.

_La Belle et la Bête_, in the parlances of the French, "Beauty and The Beast".

Kichijouten, a Japanese divinity adapted from the Hindu goddess Lakshmi, with a portfolio covering happiness, fertility, and beauty.

Hnn, I think, we're good.

Thanks as always for tuning in and hats off to last week's or so reviewers. I'll try not to disappoint with the action scenes in the coming weeks, although I profess I'm more of a cerebral plot and character developer than I am John Woo. Suggestions will be welcomed, but don't expect any miracles now; I have been trying to get prose for action scenes right for close to nine years now, since my fiction writing career began, and I still can't figure out the formula for success. Oh well, we'll see what happens, right?

Oh, and hooray, we finally passed this story's one month anniversary. Neat, huh? Look at how far we've come...

Peace.


	11. Chapter 11

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. WARNING: this episode...is LONG. I, seriously, scare myself.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 11:

Scornful Profusion

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

In an instant, the priceless charismatic porcelain mask of her egregious hauteur shattered into a million fold pieces, and like Humpty Dumpty, the metaphorical legion of the former Dark Mistress's finest could not restore Humpty Dumpty once more. Evangeline A.K. McDowell had never been more insulted in the centuries long span of her un-life! Even the humiliating event of her own downfall paled completely to this very infernal moment, the great pride of vampires, a pillar of her very existence dismissed, shredded, burned, and urinated on like yesteryear's refuse for the edification of all who might care to listen.

She could not bear it, could not stand it that the spitting image of the awful man, who had stolen her everything, would spout such pernicious condescension...! Such was her legendary outrage that the infamous nosferatu forgot the time and the place, namely her imminent confrontation against a neurotic wizard of enigmatic origin and curious talent.

"WHAT YOU SAY-_**OOMPH**_!"

She had been observing (read: stalking) for the better of seven months in preparation of tonight's climatic event, alas the best laid of plans were oft doomed to go awry, which was especially true in a lapse of better of judgment. And for all her vaunted triumphs, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell caught flatfooted in a tantrum, just ate the full electrifying force of twin luminescent bolts of red crackling light to the face, adding injury to insult. The imperious force of the sucker punch-like blows would have done any street fighter proud, sending the vainglorious vampire careening backwards comically through the air in a flurry of limbs to crash some dozen or so yards away from where she once stood on the unforgiving pavement.

"All your base are belong to me, **i~diot**," The Doctor replied smugly, using the contextually paraphrased MEME of course, and blew out the spent colorful motes of magical residue trailing from the business end of his wand like gunsmoke.

Simple cantrips may have fallen out of disuse in duels, thanks to the modern advancements in magic, but when employed with merciless violence of action in the way of a "quick draw", they could still be astoundingly effective. After all, the odds of a long aria beating a one word incantation that did not require an activation key was slim to none under normal circumstances. There was not a day that went by where he did not give thanks to Mister Haken Browning, who had devoted countless hours in edifying technique, spirit, ethos, and culture, conditioning the then younger apprentice into an "adequate" gunslinger.

Naturally, Negi never beat his mentor in the feat, which was humanly impossible to begin with, since Haken was a synthetic post-human, crafted by a questionably masterful artificer. The reaction times of a "Normal" did not have a chance in hell of beating an "Abnormal" in a fair contest, and the latter party being roaring drunk did not help even the odds much, either. On the bright side, the Doctor's "quick draw" proved to be an invaluable trump card time in and time again, having just added Setsuna Sakurazaki and this glorified trollop of a ghoul to his list of triumphs to name a few.

Now, in hindsight, scrutinizing his handiwork clinically like so, Negi had to admit he put a considerable amount of force behind his unincanted _Stupefy_. The unceremonious heap of trollop, spilling a head of blonde hair like spilt champagne from a broken bottle of black sheathe, may have deserved a more gentle crash landing-had she been entirely human. Vampires were notoriously tough undead, even by the unliving's standards, and the longer they lived the hardier they became, so he doubt a potentially fractured or broken jaw would inconvenience her for long, never mind the whip lash.

But enough idle thinking, his real work was just beginning, and the fun part was already over. Ahh, what a letdown! And here he was hoping the juvenile looking flea bitten bloodsucker would keep him entertained a bit longer. How **bor**~_ing_.

Mumbling irately under his breath, Doctor N. Springfield flourished a "true" spell, "_I invoke the ancient covenant written in Our blood. Come forth, spirits of light and darkness, Brothers within and without, and answer my humble entreaty_."

With a crisp flourish, the miraculous phenomenon occurred, which by any stretch of common sense should not be yet was so. The blowing wind shuddered and the air about the wizard's person twisted about, almost like a mirage. Shadows danced, lengthening and twisting sinuously, and impossibly enough, the moonlit night grew darker, in spite the lack thereof clouds and the ambience of the city. From these happenings did they appear, perfect twins, one in a keening sibilant crack of brightness, while the other stitched itself together from the ground up by the thousand of writhing black threads, almost like worms that came as legion.

Were he a narcissist, Negi might have felt it appropriate then to espouse that the best thing about being himself: there were so many "Mes" of him. The "Brothers" of light and darkness were utterly incorrigible doppelgangers of him down to his fashion statement, and about the only warning anyone might have guess it was not him was the obviously switched color palate. "Whitey" was fair haired and blue eyed, sporting a movie star worthy tan, not to mention a penchant for whites and blues. Erstwhile, the appropriately nicknamed "Blackie" looked every bit the part of an "Emo" Gothboy, pitch black hair, red eyes, way too much black and red, and he really could use some more time in the sun.

There were additional idiosyncrasies, but as far as elementals went, they suited his complicated needs far better than the other noble elements. And on a good day where The Doctor managed to get the "Brothers" to agree to disagree and get on with each other, they were nigh unbeatable, punching well above their weight as mid order spirits.

"What is thy bidding, mi'lord?" the Brothers chorused as one, professional, but added their own tastes of paying respect to his own nod. The light pressed a clenched fist to his chest and bowed, while the darkness clasped his hands behind his back and inclined his chin at the wily wizard in laconic familiarity.

To be frank, the boys still gave Negi a case of the goose bumps, even now, as they seemingly offered snapshots of him, possibilities lost to the sands of time. "Work. Whitey take the girl to you-know-where I am thinking of, and do not let her out of your sight until you-know-who I am thinking of, again, appears to collect her. Oh, and take that witch's hat with you too; I think it'll make a great a trophy. Afterward, you are free to leave."

Whitey turned aside, noting the object of interest, discarded mournfully by Konoka's side, having been blown off the little vampire's head in the violent exchange. He faced him once more, briefly flashing a smile, before going about his task.

"Blackie. You already know what I am thinking too: do handle the little flea bitten swamp leech with a touch of paranoia, and if necessary... You are free to persuade her to seeing our way of thinking, if you get my meaning."

Blackie rolled his eyes at him with a scoff, but obeyed nevertheless, passing by his twin on the way over, who was already on the way to vacating the scene of the crime. For all the heartache they could cause him, on the bright side, The Doctor had to admire their efficiency, carrying out his orders with little fuss. The same could not be said of Lady Luck, whom if she happened to be in a terrible row, may have Negi running around campus all night, rounding up unfortunate eyewitnesses in desperate need of a memory consultation.

Speaking of which, he ought to call up "the office" to let Anya know of their next move...

_**SPRAAAKKkkkkk**_!

... or maybe, he should get on the phone right away, as the half frozen form of Blackie, from the waist up, toppled over like Goliath with one shrill kick, shattering mournfully into a hundred odd crystalline fragments upon the indiscriminate pavement. Surprise-surprise, David came in the form of the little blonde-haired trollop of a vampire, whom he had not bother to demand a name. Alarms rang in his inner ear, probably having sounded well in advance of his momentary inattentiveness. The heuristic battle software in his A.R. glasses immediately zeroed in the flasks she held in her trembling hands, filled with strange colored fluids.

Best estimates believed them to be catalysts for the freezing spell that had struck the unfortunate spirit of darkness, which was quite the oddity. Vampires were notorious as a genus for their natural magical talent, passed on from sire to offspring, amongst many other unsavory things. Even younglings were more than a match for most wet behind the ears mages coming straight out from the academies, so why was it?

"_Rrrrgghhh_!" she growled angrily, reminding him a fox trying to make itself bigger than it really was, "you're next, **brat**. EAT THIS!"

Again, unincanted, The Doctor flicked his wrist, brandishing his wand before him in a ritualistic flourish at the oncoming improvised projectiles. Mana burned in his circuits, a simple combustion effect, producing a cone of humming vibrant blue energies projected right in front of him, like an oversized umbrella. The air snapped, crackled, and popped from the rapid deathly freeze, capturing some stray cherry blossom petals, as the volatile mix did its work, only to wash impotently against his shield.

Looks, though, could be deceiving, and underneath his facade of outward calm, Negi scowled at the sharp, phantom feedback flowing through his dominant arms, as his magical reserves shuddered a notch. The potency of the spell was actually quite something to experience; hence, no wonder poor Blackie had been sundered in half, not that he particularly needed his upper half most of the time. The human form was merely a vain shell the Doctor insisted on for convenience's sake.

"My, my, how uncouth. Is that any way to repay my good will in ensuring recyclable refuse is put in its proper place? I am a firm believer in global warming and clean energy, savvy, and though you might be a rutting rotten corpse, I am sure Mother Nature would be happy to extract the nitrogen from your posthumous carcass to feed the birds and the trees."

They say, "Sticks and stones might break my bones but words will never hurt me", but judging by the anguished ululating howl loosed by the vampire, his tender, honeyed words were cutting deeply as any sanctified conceptual weapon. No matter what species of vampire the unfortunate observer might encounter from the lowest warg to the highest true ancestor, these creatures of the night had one Achilles Heel that time could not conquer: their overwhelming pride as the nobility of the night. And the blonde-haired trollop of a leech could not stand it, his audacious impertinence spoken as frankly as him wiping his backside with satin silk after defecating on a silver platter to be handed directly to her for consumption.

Evangeline, absolutely, could not tolerate the idea of her prey, the unremarkable living blood pack known as humans, was copping an attitude problem with her!

"Well, you are just a regular one-trick pony, are you not?" drawled Negi, rolling his eyes skyward in boredom, as another reprisal "washed" pitifully off his _Protego _shield charm. "Oh, but please for the love of oxygen, do not suffer another word; I know your best trick already: _play dead_. That's ri~ght, **play dead**, you fermenting sack of fertilizer!"

Like a beaten, dying animal, the vampire yowled again and unleashed the remainder of her ordinance in a reckless tantrum, laying down a literal wall of projectiles. Doctor N. would be lying, if he said he was not enjoying his daredevil gambit. Shame; the ultimate high in valor always seemed to require the so-called badass to taunt the jaws of ignominious defeat by sticking half of his arse into it and dancing out at the last moment. He was all too aware things could go horribly wrong at any moment, if he pulled the last straw that would break the beast's back, sending it into a wild frenzy.

Vampires had considerable superhuman strength, too, and until he could find an opportune moment to retrieve Blackie, the magister had to walk that tightrope act tight-tight-tight! Youngling or otherwise, the little leech could easily shove her hand into his gut and pull out all sorts of soft squishy insides that did not belong outside, gutting him like livestock to the slaughterhouse. Unfortunately for the raging blonde lolita, his act had many more routine to play out yet, and the relatively tight formation of her barrage gave him a brilliant idea.

"**Expulso**!" he roared with mad glee, ceasing his defense to go on the offensive.

Again he felt the burn to his mana reserves, but the spectacular result, happening in a split instant, was worth every precious ounce of magical power. The rustling trees gave a violent shudder, when the entire barrage shattered prematurely into a beautiful shower of ice crystals in mid-flight, blown backwards as if by a passing supersonic bow wave that had crossed the dozens of yards effortlessly. And for his efforts, Negi was rewarded with a blood curling shriek; shrapnel, bits of frozen ice and glass from both the potions and the hapless lampposts, had torn into the vampire's exposed arms and face in a razor sharp hail, slicing tender, shallow cuts into her vain flesh and culling stray tresses of hair.

"A, agghh, wa...waaagaaaaahhhhggh!" she collapsed unto her hands and knees, bleeding from many wounds, at the sight her own tainted crimson blood. The wretched leftovers that could not even oxygenate on its own, a sight she likely had not seen in a good, long while. "Ga, gwag-hhh...! _Uuuuuu_~, Gammiiiiit!"

Ah, the poetry of the irony!

The Doctor crowed spitefully in the pitiless breeze that was whipping up into a right and proper gale along the darkened street. He could not have asked for a better stage, "HYAH ha ha ha! Hey, what is wrong with you, silly deaf and dumb leech? Huh? What is wrong? Did you happen to have a little _mis_-fire~ with your little toys now? Huh? HUH~! _Iihihihihi_! ...Hey, hey, HE~Y, don't you feel just AW-ful? Heh he he ha ha ha! Oh, what FUN~; _Accio_, Blackie!"

It would have been quite embarrassing to have the magic of his performance ruined by the flying remains of half-a-man from the waist down, bowling him over, but right on cue, the dark elemental dispersed into a storm of pitch black darkness. Negi was swallowed whole in an instant, but far from worried, he became even cockier, impossibly enough, much to the vampire's shock, mesmerized by the surreal event. His arrogance on display for all too see, as a nightmarish caricature of a smile appeared on the undulating surface of the maelstrom, oozing red hot crimson like burning coals.

"Mi'lord, permission to flesh meld?" boomed Blackie's otherworldly tenor, his approximate true voice, with a hint of malice that whipped the storm into a frenzy, slashing apart any stray pink petals that drew near.

"Why, of course, permission granted, Blackie," his contractor encouraged him. "Release restriction codes one thru two; fire control is yours! I will fret about moving and thinking for us, though do watch your aim, I am still responsible for Whitey, after all."

"Affirmative. Rules of engagement?"

The curt military tongue had been taught unto them by The Doctor's insistence, as he found their old fashioned, noble mannerisms to be far too ungainly in a modern combat situation, where life and death could be measured in seconds. Thus, the ability to communicate concisely and clearly was of paramount importance.

"I only need **it **alive for questioning, understand? That _**anathema **_against nature can make do without a limb or two. Besides, they might even grow back good as new after the fact, like a lizard sacrificing its own tail to save its skin, eh? _Iihihihihihi_! Oh, I can scarcely contain my anticipation!"

"No time like the present to find out, Lord."

"And I could not agree more."

The infamous Dark Mistress had heard of such tall tales in her long life, wild theories and campfire stories, but to see the myth of man and elemental bond together as one was a jaw dropping sight to behold. And the end result of boy and darkness brought forth from the dispersing maelstrom, keening ominously in its final climax, in spite of all her experiences, chilled her to the bone. There he was, a mortal and yet not mortal, a demon of the dark that exuded trails of dancing shadows as if Hell's inferno burned beneath his skin. Indeed, the magister's very body seemed to sap the very presence of light, shrouding him in a distorted ball of perception, sometime present, other times invisible.

"Ah~, what is this?" spoke the glowing crimson eyed smile from within his hood. "You waited for me? Really? Really-really? Aw, how cute~! I think I am starting to take a little shine to you, may-be. Eh-heh he he he! But you do not get it do you? You just cannot bloody comprehend how a lowly human is putting a glorified flea bitten maggoty cadaver, way passed its expiration date, like you in its place, can you? CAN YOU?"

Of course, the Maga Nosferatu could not understand it, but there was no doubting the cruel reality in front of her. The ghastly vision in front of her disbelieving eyes that was not a mere human, some hairless ape with a measure of power called "Mage", but an abominable **monster **hiding in thinly veiled _faux _human flesh. She came to play "games" with a foolish human _boy_, not a monster, dammit!

"Hey~, just some piece meal advice, write it down if you have too~, because this might turn up on the test later, _huhuhu_... _**This**_. Is the part where you start **running**!"

Like anyone faced with unreasonable life or death circumstances, even the mighty Evangeline A.K. MacDowell sensed she had bit off way more than she came to chew, tucked her tail between her skinny legs, and ran as fast her stiletto heeled pumps could carry her. ...which for the record was not very fast. She would have been better off wearing more practical Nike sneakers, even if it would clash with her "black lolita witch" fashion, custom tailored anonymously at Victoria's Secret.

As for the overwhelming victor in this dreary contest of bluffs, the spectacular Doctor N. Springfield gave his erstwhile opponent a full head start and breathed a much deserved sigh of relief, taking the brief seconds to gather his highstrung, miles-per-second thoughts. It had been a close call, way too close for his comfort zone; one misspoken line and he would have been seeing his own bleeding intestines fed to him by brute force. He felt he was inordinately lucky that the vampire had remained docile, like putty in his capable hands, allowing him to dictate the terms and tempo of the event with impunity.

In fact, Negi would have loved to call it a night right there, as between using his "bloodletting lip service" to maximum output and threat of imminent disembowelment, he was quite tired, but the work of the wicked was never finished. Fishing out his bluetooth headset from his pockets to place a call, only then did he begin to give chase down the street.

"Control! Overlord Actual here, I-" the magister barked briskly into the receiver bit upon receiving the "go ahead" chime, while ignoring the now constant burn on his mana reserves.

Again, Negi adopted the military speak, a matter of "radio discipline" his dear Anya and himself had decided out of the necessity for urgency, lacking a better alternative for communication. The capability to send and receive messages by secure means was not a specialty they had any proficiency in, having always relied on a third party to facilitate such transmissions. Even now, they were regrettably using a commercial telecom carrier through which it would be easy as child's play to listen in on their affairs.

"Um," the person who answered the line, however, was not whom the Doctor was expecting to be on the agreed shift tonight, "Sakurazaki here, sen-I mean-Overlord Actual, Cocolova-san is..."

Setsuna was still having difficulties grasping the finer disciplines of modern warfare, an understandable deficiency, considering her _modus operandi _had no such paramilitary background, until she met the two mages. In fact, even the princess's security teams did not engage her in such details, leaving her sorely lacking in that particular body of "language", and hopelessly naive in how battles should be fought, not that his secretary was any better. Anastasia still considered herself more of a law-abiding undercover police girl than a real "Operator", but she was warming up nicely enough to the idea.

"Wot? Oh, never mind, save the story for later; you'll do," Negi said plainly, opting out of the fat of his usual verbiage, as he caught up to the vampire, holding just thirty odd paces behind her. She heard him coming, of course, and when the little blonde trollop shot a glance over her shoulder, he made sure to shoot her his best Cheshire Cat's grin, with way too many shiny teeth. "Tell Anya ASAP to double time to Site Nine for a pick up. Code A.i.A. is in effect. I repeat. Code A.i.A. is in effect. Over."

"Angels in the Attic.! Y, You're kidding," Setsuna exclaimed with a shocked gasp.

Spurned on, understandably, the vampire ran faster, which did not inconvenience him too much, and the sakura trees of Cherry Blossom Lane soon gave way to an intersection, bringing the heated chase back to the familiar European style sprawl of the academy proper. She cut across the sleepy streets, which were mercifully devoid of civilians, but there was no telling when The Doctor's luck would run out. The oversight in OpSec (read: operational security) needed to be addressed right away admittedly, but first...

"Don't go anywhere, Control; I need you to run support with Charlotte's Web for me on the bounce. Anya can handle The Package. Over."

"B-But...!" Setsuna protested shrilly, almost as if she were on the verge of panic and doing something reckless. He was not about to have her possible insubordination ruin his little unexpected operation of which the fine details, the magister magi was making up as he went along.

Negi put his foot down, although he could not understand why the electric itch in his palms suddenly came back with a vengeance. Agh, he so did not have time to be contemplating such ill omens now! "Trust me, no, trust **us**. We're a T-E-A-M, remember? And we're all in this mess TOGETHER. I don't care if you don't get along with the magistra magi, because at the very least, right now: I want you, need you to believe in ME, who believes in YOU! Savvy?"

Tonight, this event was a test, no doubt, of his leadership, the small bonds he had formed, but also his character. Little did the raven-haired bodyguard realize that even as strongly Doctor N. Springfield spoke to her, he brandished a double-edged sword that cut both ways. He, too, now stood on the deadly precipice of defeat with everything to lose and everything to gain, a terrifying proposition he had placed himself into unwittingly, and the power to decide the fate of all-was in her small, trembling hands.

"Do you get me, Sakurazaki Setsuna?" Negi barked urgently, as he saw his quarry steaming full speed, like her life depended on it, towards a pedestrian overpass that yawned over the nearby river.

How strange; lesser vampire should not be able to cross running water. The bridge helped, but the ordeal would sap her strength considerably. So what in the devil was she planning? Also, what was taking Setsuna? Yes, he understood that at the moment was far from an ideal time for such a question, but god dammit, the fates have a funny way of dolling out responsibility to people when they least want it!

"Setsuna!"

"Permission to fire, Lord?" Blackie whispered in his ears, dropping a big red lockbox around the fleeing vampire within his augmented field of vision. "I can guarantee a minimum hit probability of sixty-seven percent."

"Not yet. Not until the fields are up; we're already overexposed, and we can't risk collateral damage in real-!"

The Magister Magi stopped himself short, as right before his stunned eyes, the conundrum facing him just got a whole lot worse. He had dismissed the vampire's fancy cloak prematurely, after all, because that particular article of clothing now revealed its true function. With a flutter, swathes of the tattered sinuous material unfurled itself visibly backward into a rigid form, like bat wings, even giving a testing flap or three in the flowing gale.

"Oh bloody hell, that sack of fermenting compost is trying to fly...!" Negi managed to curse, before his quarry leapt up, using the bridge's railings as a spring board, to soar skyward in a sudden updraft. No, it was not just wind; she was riding on an upflow of mana particles in the very atmosphere! "Control: hostile is airborne. I repeat. Hostile is airborne. Activate temporal displacement fields along my heading NOW. Over."

Damnation. What was taking that fool girl so long? A simple yes or no answer would suffice; yes, he would be disappointed to be rejected, having expected such a setback to be a dim possibility. But at the moment, his prey was about to get away, and The Doctor was nowhere near finished playing with it!

"U, Understood, Overlord Actual," and just when he thought all was lost, Setsuna hesitantly answered. Goodness, what a way for her to string him along on, tip toeing on eggshells, but the senseless theatrics aside, could she work any faster? "Tracking you on the grid... Sector confirmed. Unknown marked. Fields up in three... Two... One..."

Negi cut the line, breathing deeply as his autosenses detected the sudden electric spike of energies, indicating the reality warping influence of the preset, mass area temporal displacement field in this particular district. Progress was good, but the hardest part was yet to come, and he gathered his concentration for his next savvy trick. He might not be able to fly, but sure as hell could make titanic leaps and bounds, like The Incredible Hulk!

"Maximum output: GO!"

The burning in the magister's veins intensified, bequeathing an ethereal, searing clarity unto his very soul: one word, one will, one vision, one **purpose**. The "flames" from the furnace of darkness wrested in his flesh, burst forth in an uncanny conflagration, but instead of cremating him to dust and ashes, Doctor N. Springfield was-transformed into a burning avatar of shadow. Blessed thusly, it was no surprise that by one leap alone, stepping off the exact same length of railing the vampire had co-opted prior, he catapulted himself skyward in a supersonic propagating bow wave. Naturally, the magister magi also destroyed the bridge in the process, leaving behind a catastrophic cacophony of dust and debris in his wake.

Thanks to the wonders of magic, though, the actual bridge in reality would not suffer a sudden wanton calamity, probably, for another ten to twenty years, give or take a few.

"WOO-HOO~!" Negi howled loudly with glee, relishing the screaming vernal air against his cheeks and hair, as he climbed rapidly above the pink petal dressed trees and the sprawling cityscape in a matter of heartbeats. "And that's one small step for The Doctor, one giant leap for Doctorkind!"

His jubilant ascent, thankfully (or he would have been sorely disappointed), had not gone unnoticed, for down below the vampire saw him and gaped, rightly so, at his falling shadow skylined against the glowing moon, an ill omen of imminent pain.

"Weapons free..."

Even as Negi spoke his command with exuberant bombast, the dark elemental had already anticipated its summoner's desire. Coils of writhing darkness slithered out from underneath his skin, like hundreds of tiny snakes, coagulating together into a single tubular mass that stretched over his shoulder. The mass contracted and lengthened, like a breathing organism, forming the unmistakable shape of a gun, with three ominous barrels to be precise, housed together in a revolving pattern. And each one was headed by a serpentine maw, red-eyed to match the malevolent intent of their transformed master.

"DEATH FROM ABOVE, BABY~!"

* * *

It was not a stretch to say that Evangeline A.K. MacDowell had already been convinced some time ago, she was way in over her head. The powers that be upstairs must have had it out for her badly tonight. How else was the Maga Nosferatu to rationalize the fact she was now engaged in a flashy, high-octane dogfight, with a howling mad four-eyed monkey wielding a magick autogun that belched shrieking infernal bolts of darkness at her? The whole rotten situation was so wildly beyond her expectations she almost forgot her common sense!

With a yelp, the vampire tugged on her fixed "wings" and threw herself into a roll, banking hard to the right, as the pink canopy below her spontaneously burst aflame under the screaming onslaught. The withering impacts sundered wood and earth, and more disturbingly still, the infernal bolts burned visibly through the atmosphere, like tracers, in an unnatural contrail of prismatic colors, all wrong and reversed. Had she the time she could have counted each individual "bullet", yipping at her heels, but as it stood, Evangeline was in the flight for her life, using every ounce of willpower to ride the currents air and mana, faster.

Trying to evade the Springfield boy's line of fire was a fool's errand, as he was directly above her, falling more at a leisurely glide than a hapless brick, and could adjust his aim with little hassle. In fact, the trail of consuming black fire that followed her was getting closer by the second, despite her wild evasive pattern, zigging and zagging to and fro. It could only mean his altitude would soon break her plane, affording Evangeline even less time to dodge.

God, she could not believe his audacity! The sight of their air battle should have been visible for miles around, and still, his diabolical "steel rain" did not let up, continuing to fire with maddening impunity, even as she exceeded the threshold of the tree line. Hoping to deter his aim, the vampire tucked her wide angular wings tighter to her body, limiting her maneuverability but increasing her airspeed dramatically, as she swooped in below the tree line and into the urban streets of the shopping district. The European aesthetic buildings lined up together in relatively neat rows should make him think twice at the risk of collateral damage, before opening fire, alas, Evangeline was to be sorely disappointed that common sense no longer appeared to apply to Negi Springfield.

"Oooo~, bonus points for mayhem... LET'S GET DANGEROUS, BABY~!"

The furious belching grew more belligerent if it were possible, much to her shock. Only by the grace of being a smaller target did she managed to roll out of the way, the bolts drawing uncomfortably close enough for her to feel her painstakingly conditioned locks of blonde shriveling into awful split ends. Another unforgiveable insult added to her list of damages, and oh, how Evangeline swore there would be a reckoning, even as the world around her exploded into confetti! Glass panels and bricks blew out from the nearby buildings into deadly shrapnel at the seemingly slightest touch of the infernal "bullets" of darkness.

What the hell, they burn things and are explosive too! she thought incredulously.

Nothing around her was safe, nothing too sacred, as fire hydrants popped spraying columns a hundred feet into the air. Traffic lights were sundered from their posts and shattered into a millions bits. The asphalt pavement was torn up, spraying dust and debris, in her wake that the pursuing mad boy gaily charged straight through, amazingly keeping pace with her despite being on foot, before making another powerful leap into the air to strafe at her. It was wanton destruction at its finest with no regard for the consequences, as she dove lower, almost hugging the ground, the screaming projectiles whipping about her probable path.

Evangeline was convinced beyond any doubt that he must be crazy. How else was she to explain the fact Negi did not seem to be aiming at her specifically anymore, instead taking out targets of opportunity at his slightest whim? He strafed his fire at the supports of an overhanging skybridge dead ahead of their course, bringing the whole structure crashing spectacularly onto the street in a cloud of debris and smoke, while she narrowly escaped underneath. For a second, the vampire thought her pursuer had blundered at last, but a curt backward glance put an abrupt heartbreaking end to her wishful thinking.

Out from the wake of his destructive handiwork, The Doctor came running up the side of an intact building, not unlike a scene from The Matrix, and kicked off, twirling about in mid-air like an acrobat with a wild whoop. She was so astonished by the superhuman feat, as he laid down his continuous barrage that the vampire did notice the fact she was passing dangerously close to a parked delivery van. Negi, obviously, did not miss the seemingly innocent environmental hazard.

"Oh, I love cars! They blew up real~ good!"

He just about cackled in its direction, and the van's humble frame crumpled from a sudden series of gouging impacts, exploding momentarily into a terrific fireball. The flash, the heat burned intensely, as pieces of scalding hot shrapnel sliced at her, but even in disaster, Evangeline's instincts sensed an opportunity. She unfurled her "wings", exposing her vain personage partially in the process, but considering her cuts had already healed, the vampire felt confident enough that she would live through a bad case of sunburn. And oh did it burn, but the pain was worth it, as she altered the subtle properties of her wings on the fly and rode up on the explosion, like a thermal updraft, in a sudden burst of speed, narrowly avoiding a lazy follow up sweep from her foe.

The Doctor, though, far from being put out, greeted such a plot twist with great enthusiasm. After all, he had just received confirmation of a work-in-progress that had kept him waiting for some time, and it was now time to bring this merry farce to its conclusion.

"Package delivered, Lord," Blackie intoned helpfully. "Your mana output surplus has freed up another seven percent; reserves are at sixty-seven percent."

As awesome his transformation had been, remaining fused with an elemental was an exponentially expensive partnership, despite the benefits. Without the spirit of darkness, there was no way he could have chased the airborne vampire across most of the shopping district, hardly breaking a sweat, while simultaneously laying down a withering barrage to knock her out of the sky. Alas, her reflexes were up to snuff, or she was extremely lucky, prolonging the high-speed chase in open spite of his more optimistic projections. In the best case scenario, Negi never expected to have to pull out his bigger guns, but she had made him work for it, and he could think of no better way to give the fair-haired flea bitten leech a proper send off.

"Ex~cellent! Now, enough tomfoolery, my fabulous black-hearted puck, you may release restriction code number three and bring out The Mortarslug. Make ready with Hellstorm shells, three-shot spread, fifteen-meter dispersal, and afterward, I want a tight, _accurate _burst with the Tridents, dear puck. Bring. **It**. Down!"

Now the mage's accusatory tone was not entirely fair to Blackie, considering he had been enjoying the carnage, too. Blowing stuff up, in the parlance of common mortals, was quite the stress relieving exercise, and Negi Springfield had plenty of pent up emotion to spare after going seven months without a good fight. His present opponent could be better, but an opportunity to let loose and have some good clean fun should be savored at all costs, a service the dark elemental was happy to facilitate.

"He" happened to like his role as the preferred number two man compared to his kinder, perfidious "twin". It was a good rule of thumb, after all, to never trust a goody toe shoes, because good did not necessarily equate nice, polite, well-mannered, self-righteous, or naive, unless they are trying really hard to cut the other party a rutting sorry deal. Indeed, Blackie stood appropriately abashed when the cat came out of the bag, and felt first hand how awful goodness was.

"Mimetic generation complete. Beginning optimal trajectory calculations... Accounting for wind, air temperature, and air pressure... Preliminary firing checks complete. Standing by on your go, Lord."

Negi grunted his acknowledgment and slammed hard on his metaphorical break pedals, skidding to a kneeling halt that left steaming melted furrows in the road, not unlike a trail of burning rubber. The living autogun on his shoulder slithered off onto his forearm with a serpentine hiss to make room for the yawning maw of its far larger, and ponderous cousin. The construct was a fat sluggish creature in comparison with a quartet of eyes on long stalks and whiskers, though it quickly ensconced itself in place, with a greedy snort, spreading out its many long spindly legs that seemed to sprout form its corpulent body against the asphalt for additional stability.

"Locked down and in position; the bloomin' trollop's a hundred meters out. No time like the present to get me my runaway cadaver, Blackie!"

"Final firing checks complete, Lord," the dark elemental notified him dutifully, overlaying the colorful firing arcs in his augmented vision. "By your command..."

"Swat her from the sky!" roared The Doctor.

The Mortarslug did its name proud, and with a disgusting wetness, vomited forth its deadly ordinance in rapid succession unabashedly, venting a foul yellowy-white steam from gills along its body with every shot. But for all of its evident foulness, the construct did its job well. Powerful muscles hurled the darkly iridescent shells skyward effortlessly, as the massive recoil hammered into vulnerable road each time, causing a series of spider webbing cracks to open up with each mighty thump. Being so high up, it was a mixed blessing that the infamous Dark Evangel had no idea what hit her until the trio of basketball-sized aerodynamically shaped shells caught up with her.

After all, the blonde-haired girl was all too happy to be rid of her injurious pursuer at last, and in an unusual twist of humility, decided to not push her luck by sticking around to gloat, as she was still a ways off from her rendezvous point. Hence, she only had enough time to kiss her metaphorical arse, her expression paling in a comical cry of apoplectic incomprehension, before the world as the vampire understood exploded flashily with back to back thunderclaps. Try as he might, The Doctor could never tire of the glorious sound of high-explosive flak.

"Confirmed impacts, Lord," Blackie hummed noncommittally, as they leveled the now arm-mounted Trident autoguns skyward in preparation for the next ugly but necessary task. The darkly serpents hissed eagerly, excited to let fly with all guns once more.

Negi licked his lips. "Patience, my dears. Patience. Haste makes waste and pretty lasses cry, or something to that effect."

Right on schedule, the main course came "stumbling" out of the black smoke in a charred "Bloody Mess", more the pitiful pauper and less the haughty agent of the night when they first met, and The Doctor was about to introduce her to even more humble pie. Concussed and bleeding from the ears, the vampire's dastardly luck failed at last, for the Trident grabbed a hold of her tainted scent and belched contemptuous retribution.

Twice the booming thuds reverberated through the air, the infernal bolts crossing downrange in milliseconds to swat down the object of their master's bemused displeasure for good. Twice she was clipped, sending the vampire pirouetting about violently, and again, she was grazed on the right thigh and left upper bicep, before the bolts found their mark to her squishy guts and frail shoulder in floral expositions of blood. He had to hand it to her, though, the little blonde trollop did not scream but wore a painfully shocked expression on her first, unbearably as if she were about to cry, as gravity took hold, pulling on her wretched soul to return to earth.

"And that my friends, is how you have a roaring good time while safari hunting vam~pire!" Negi chortled wry, unlocking himself from his lockdown position that had helped ensure a well done persecution of his target. "Thank you, thank you! I could not have done it with you."

"Fifty-five percent remaining in your reserves, Lord," Blackie chided the irreverent boy magister to cut the pre-party theatrics and finish his work, before the spirits forbid the cows come home.

"Bah, I am tracking her estimated crash trajectory as we speak... This way, friends; once more into the breach! Gung ho, gung ho, and all that crazy rubbish!"

* * *

What they found soon after was not pretty sight, but Doctor N. Springfield had seen and done far worse to beings, without even an ounce of the vampire's inherent durability. If anything, she was fortunate he had not exercise his greater creative faculties, for the magister did very much enjoy tearing apart the rose tinted delusions of so-called "superior beings" of their self-evident invulnerability. Vampires, obviously, were part of the same camp and deserved nothing less.

If the coughing little minx wished it, after his interrogation, he could give her the deluxe treatment, which had made him quite infamous in some sectors as "The Black Beast's Shadow". Whereas The Master preferred to brutalize the objects of his ire into submission, The Apprentice took on a much more clinical, scientific bedside manner. Time was of no terrible object, and the longer the days, the more fond he became of his unfortunate squirming canvas. His patients all came into therapy as loud, pompous windbags, and when they left, they came to comprehend intimately the horrors they had inflicted so callously on others less fortunate.

As for Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, she was too busy being beaten, downtrodden, shot, burned, humiliated, and otherwise, wholly defeated. Laying there on the unfeeling rooftop, sprawled out on her side like a wounded pathetic animal, she clutched at the bony stake protruding from her guts, as the flock of magick'd impish bats that once formed her cloak fluttered about worriedly. Though simple minded, they were dutiful servitors, a quality the Dark Evangel could respect.

Good help was hard to find, after all, and she never seemed to have a reliable pair of hands, when she needed them most. The arrival of the loathsome beast of a boy, smashing ominously onto the roof, was such a situation, obviously. His presence inflamed the creatures into a shrieking frenzy, a vexed anger he soothed with no more than a casual wave of his hand, as they all froze as one by the power of some malign influence, and burned away crisply into crumbling ashes.

"My, my, take a look at you~, short stuff! What a mess. What a riot! If I were to post you up on my blog, I imagine I would have a gazillion hits from my biggest fans," chortled "Negi Springfield", as his seemingly demonic half melted away from his mortal coil and deposited a perfect twin of himself, except the colors were all wrong.

Hah, all wrong? More like out of control, thought Evangeline bitterly. Everything had gone horribly out of control!

Tonight was to have been no more than an introduction, a short skirmish to validate her presence on the playing field. She was to have been the great, glamorous villainess, welcoming the foolish hero to her web, but here she was, instead, the defeated, the roles reversed. The mighty Dark Evangel reduced to the role of a poor victimized girl cowering in fear of what diabolical excesses the awesomely terrifying boy, the true villain of this sordid tale, whom she had gravely underestimated, would allow to get at the answers he wanted. Answers to questions she did not possess, and her pride would be damned if she squealed some trite nonsense, the worst pitifulness just to get herself away from him.

Damn it all, if only she were at full strength...and what was that annoying buzzing noise she could feel straight in her bones? It felt like magic, but for the life of her she could not figure what it was doing or what it was for? All Evangeline could focus on was the awful affront of the present, a reality she did not want to accept. For Satan's sake, where in the hell was her trump card? It had been a miracle she had managed to crash land roughly at the rendezvous point in her tattered state.

What else could be expected of her, huh? Was the Dark Evangel to resort now to the most lowly of servile tactics to buy herself a few more precious minutes? She, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, would have to bluff?

"Y, You...whore's son! Wh, what..._**ugh**_...the hell kind of wizard are you? Black? White?"

Oh, did the Maga Nosferatu know how to put on a tough act, as much as the defiant act humiliated her so. Luckily for her miserable sake, her opponent was the sort of eccentric jerk, who loved an artful contest of rhetoric.

Doctor N. Springfield grinned, motioning for the dark elemental to hold his advance. "Oh? A whore's son you say? You might be right, actually, not that I particularly mind either way."

"Huuhhh?" she spat spitefully right back at him, but inside, Eva's thoughts swam at the shocking implications of the boy magisters words. What! Wha, what was he saying? Did he not realize who he was?

...Well, the former Dark Mistress still needed a drop of his blood to be absolutely certain, but her nose was nothing to laugh at, and she could smell the sins of the father all over his "son"!

"The Master taught me this: it is not about where you come from, it is about where you are going. And I apologize, but your turn on the stage has come to its end."

...Wh, wha? W, wait a second here? He was serious! Then that means he really does not know at all, and...DOES NOT CARE? H, how? ...Why? Who is this The Master? And what in the world happened to Negi Springfield (assuming he was THE Negi Springfield who disappeared six years ago)? It was already surprising enough to see a dead person come back to life after six years, older than he should be, experienced, and exponentially more powerful too. Hell, she had spent a good chunk of the last seven months in relative seclusion trying to unravel that very astonishing mystery behind the young man before her to no avail.

And then, only after having been frustrated beyond word by multiple fruitless dead ends, did Evangeline resolve to give it all she had in her mad gambit, for what she thought to be her last and best chance at freedom!

"Still, in~teresting. Very~ interesting! I did not expect a shitty rotting, maggot infested corpse to be capable of feigning such an intelligent question. From my experience, the majority of plebeians like to paint the world in stark black and white, good wizards and bad wizards, but that level of reasoning is not delectable at all. Oh, no. It is boring. Dull. Absolutely dull! That level of reason cannot possibly be enough to satisfy I, Doctor N. Springfield. _Hu hu hu hu_, so, how about it? Will you listen?"

Evangeline writhed ineffectually under the torrent of mocking vitriol. What else could she do but listen?

"But, of course, you must listen! And I will The Bard to speak the truth for me thus: _for there is nothing either good or bad_, _but thinking makes it so_. _Iihihihihihihihi_...HA ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

Satan's blood, the vampire gaped at the insanely cackling form of the Magister Magi, wracked with unabashed bemusement. He must be mad. That's it. Absolutely mad. Bonkers. Off his rocker! Hell, she could imagine it now. Had things gotten on a little differently with the nefarious Nagi Springfield, hero and rebel of the Wizarding World, the vampire could see him turning out just like this young...**impostor **before her. Yes, yes! It made perfect sense.

_The Specter of the Thousand Master_!

"Ah~, however, if you wish to speak of morality, I am most~ly a left-wing moderate, and as such I owe you an apology for gutting you only two times in a row," Negi offered her a pompous bow. "Blackie's substrate growths must be rather unpleasant, are they not? Aren't~ they! And I know, certainly so, what horrid things they are doing to your vitals as we speak..."

And then his lips played back into that awful smile, his glasses flashing with an unseemly glare.

"They are forcing your regenerating tissues and organs to set incorrectly. Marvelous, is it not? I am quite proud of them, real~ly, helped design them as a matter of fact. On paper alone, they are the equivalent of fourteen-point-five by one-fifty-five millimeter flachettes, the jacket composed of primordial magick'd darkness with a core of high density nightgaunt bone that has the same hardness as tungsten carbide."

"W, Why in the blood?" Evangeline spluttered in genuine flabbergasted horror. Horrible. How horrible! The Nagi she knew would never think of such cruel things, and... G, _guah_, it won't stop hurt-ing!

"Because overkill is underrated. Deals death to man, beast, and most monsters indiscriminately, with extreme prejudice. They deteriorate rapidly in daylight, but I could not ask for a better, more murderous tool for the nightwatch. _Kkkk_, **hu hu hu hu hu**!"

"You...m, monster!" the vampire snarled at him, much to The Doctor's open joy. He loved it when his patients put up a good fight!

"That is quite something coming from a bonafide monster herself; I think I will consider it a compliment, no? **Heh**."

But enough foreplay, it was high time to throw off his kid gloves and put on the heavy duty surgical stuff. Things could get unexpectedly messy, but that was why he had Blackie around. Nodding towards to the dark spirit, he understood his summoner's merciless intent, and moved to obey.

"Now, you shitty leech, you are going to tell me ev~ery~thing I want to know, the five W's and the one H for starters, because I will meticulously, scientifically ascertain what makes you tick, and consequently, what makes you _hurt_. **The Worst**."

Fear: a weakness of the soul she had not felt in a long time, but dammit was Evangeline getting reacquainted fast. This was it, and she was now, the Dark Mistress was at the total mercy of this scoundrel, this villain, not even afforded a measure of her true strength, thanks to the sealing effects of the curse that bound her to this terrible school. The ability to regenerate her wounds rapidly, a common enough trait amongst her kind, had become both a blessing and a curse. For as long as the moonlit evening lasted, there were hardly any limits to whatever diabolical methods he could use to extract what he wanted from her.

God damn it, where was Chachamaru that useless girl! ...no. No. NO! She did not want to go out like this!

Doctor N. Springfield, frankly, could not give a damn about what his patient wanted. How could he possibly cure the disease infesting their rotten brains, if he did not first purge their delusions of grandeur? Awful. Just awful! There was no way he could work under such suffocating conditions.

His facetious attitudes towards the use of torture on an enemy combatant aside, Negi's parade was about to get a case of the jitters, namely his bluetooth headset notified him of an incoming call. Having not moved an inch from his original landing zone yet, while Blackie went over to secure the patient for the coming operation, he rolled his eyes skyward at the unexpected interruption. Why was it people could not seem to leave him alone while he was trying to enjoy himself, huh?

Did the world find some kind of twisted joy in trying to interfere with him whenever the going got good? Was that it? Well, screw you, World, thought Negi, feeling an odd electric itch building in his palms, as he hit the answer button on his ear piece nevertheless, with the finger. Take that!

"Yes-"

Setsuna's normally stoic, reserved tones shouted over him, with a rare paling urgency, "Overlord, there's a high-speed unknown in bound-"

"Ah, I think I see it," Negi interjected, returning the favor with interest. "Blue striped panties, long neon green hair, and our school uniform? That unknown?"

"Wh...Wa, w, wha, WHAA~?"

"My thoughts exactly," the boy professor agreed with his young intern's incredulousness, as the "Close-Up" window within his augmented field of vision cut out.

Poor Blackie never stood a chance. The interloper struck like lightning fury, a crashing thunder that shook the rooftop, and silver flashed in the moonlit night, cutting the looming dark elemental in half from behind. Head to toe, he was bisected in two, but his torment just began, and the slim silvery blade protruding out from the girl's sleeves flashed again, slicing not once but thrice in three additional planes. Had he been in a human it would have been a very bloody, gory mess for someone else to clean up.

Elemental spirits being creatures of pure magic, he merely groaned in abject disappointment before exploding away into a harmless cloud of black smoke and glowing motes of exhausted mana.

"Oh, hell..."

Negi breathed, weighing in his options and assets coolly, as the troubling interloper turned about to face him. The dark elemental could not be harmed easily by any mere conventional means, which meant that the tall schoolgirl (about half a head or so taller than Asuna Kagurazaka, in fact) confronting him had some competent backing. Her neon green eyes matched her hair, and indeed the combination seemed to lend a bizarre electric glow to the girl, but something was wrong.

Well, two things, in fact: now that he thought about it, these two..._delinquents_, if he was not making too much of a stretch in logic, seemed very familiar. The boy professor felt like he should know them, having seen their faces somewhere before, the answer idling right on the tip of his tongue but frustratingly, it eluded him. The second realization was much more disturbing.

Indeed, the rabbit-like fin antennae that wrapped over her ears only made the image worse. Her eyes had no "light" in them. It was like staring into a vacant window, muddied over with gray from neglect. The Doctor could not even perceive the subtle rise and fall common in many a living thing that would indicate its fundamental need to breathe, and the longer he gazed, more of her horrifying imperfections jumped out at him.

The "person" standing there was still, too still, unnaturally still. The skin was wrong. Hair. Eyes. Face. Lips. Neck. Wrists. Fingers. Knees. Everything!

Doctor N. Springfield brushed up his glasses by the bridge, fighting down a gag reflex to cringe at the shoddy workmanship. Imitation they say is the highest form of flattery, yet he could only express wordlessly his sincere sympathies for the poor "girl".

It was true. The "person" before him was not a human, but a caricature, an automated anthromorphic doll made to mimic such a form. If his own deductions were not enough proof, than the electromagnetic emissions coming off "her" frame was irrefutable condemning evidence, e.g. her long "silky" hair was one giant radiator for starters.

True, her meister should be praised for being able to construct her even from such sub-par materials and low technology, according to his autosenses' superficial analysis, but still, Negi could not soothe his umbrage. As a connoisseur of the finer things in life, it was an affront to the very art form of creating "Pinocchio and Alice"!

"Cha, Chachamaru!" the vampire choked, her expression complicated by breathless relief and acid haughtiness. How atypical. It did not take a pair of chummy dunderheads to see what sort of relationship these two amateur ruffians shared. "...Well, it's about, _bleghk_, damn time, you useless servant! What took you so long?"

The Doctor had to wonder what the third was like, considering had to have crafted the shoddy android. ...Gods, he really wanted to take her back to The Society, so she could be seen to a proper refit. Even the second rate technology available to meisters on Mars would suffice; the Earth made materials and tech made his eyes water, and his brain wishing to bleed right out through his nose.

"Please, allow me to speak: my apologies, Mistress. I was delayed by the field," thankfully, the programming for her personality layer seemed to up snuff in a tactical sense. Chachmaru did not take her eyes off him, even as she apologized dutifully to her owner, recognizing him as an immediate threat that should not be taken lightly.

"A field? What field?"

The vampire did not know about the temporal displacement fields? How very strange. Granted, the arcanosorcery behind them was still pretty new to magical society, a technology _The Society_ had only grudgingly parted with some fifteen years prior in return for massive concessions from interested parties. Its utility had yet to attract the mainstream media, but for individuals like former auror, Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova, it was an asset they could not live without, since criminal elements found the technology to be worth dying for as well.

"I will explain later."

As for the android being delayed, Negi had his theories on the matter, but now was hardly the appropriate time to entertain them. Besides, he was at half strength approximately, underarmed, facing off against one crippled opponent, and a fresh enemy reinforcement in the form of a combat capable android? Ha, he would be remiss if he did not continue to play his moves properly, even when the boy professor could already see the ending.

"Ho there~, _new _girl. You must be new to the game because I am fairly certain you are not supposed to show me what is underneath the lace of your skirt (in~teresting choice in underthings, by the way) before you show me your face first...and a name. Not that I do not appreciate the break from propriety, with an uncommon boldness."

"My sincerest apologies, sen...sir," Chachamaru corrected herself at the last moment.

Negi raised a brow at the slip of her tongue. Was it a calculated move or a true case of "real" emotion, a fluke some might say that originated "instinctively" from her heuristic programming? If it was the latter, maybe there was hope for her meister yet. In the meantime, the electric itch in his palms had worsened to a near unbearable burn.

The clues were all right in front of him but he still could not figure out the answer. _Ugh_.

Hambug!

"It is also extremely rude to cut down other people's summons into too many gory pieces for open display."

"I will endeavor upon a more efficient disposal method next time...sir," if her deadpanned voice was any dryer, the Doctor swore the android could strip the paint off of a wall by just talking at it.

"You know, I burned up a lot of calories sustaining him for this long. I am famished and thirsty."

"I will bring tea and biscuits next time...sir."

Is that so? Then let me see how far your accommodating nature goes, thought Negi with an open smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. "Say, new girl, can you stop casting a shadow? The moonlight's got better things to do than provide refracted solar energy to your receiver panels in your fake bunny ears."

"I am very sorry...sir."

Oh? Sub-routines that prevent her from giving away tactical flaws?

"And you are not _very _creative are you?"

"I am expressing my sincerest regret...sir."

On second thought, she could be a dull-headed drone.

"Deviant."

"I will try to change my ways...sir."

"Cosplayer."

"Forgive me...sir."

"Panty flasher."

"Sorry...sir."

"Drone."

"Sorry."

Negi breathed deeply, as if taking a long drag on the wild night air, which had calmed down now to a gentle breeze. It was time to lay down his trump card on the table.

"_Fuu_~, you are a rather tough nut to crack, my dear lass. Normally, I would take this as a challenge but...do not think badly of me now. _Tsk_. It's just that, well... Oh, this is difficult for me too, you realize, because... _See_. You are just **bor~ing**."

"Sorr..." Chachamaru began to speak her now customary retort, only to have the words unexpectedly freeze in her voice synthesizer.

The pending process in her cooperative multi-tasking CPUs began to loop. A certain repeating set of instructions had failed to meet its specific end condition, and try as she might to devote more resources to unravel the growing tangle, the android could neither pinpoint the error with her debugging scripter nor terminate the task by brute force. Oh dear, the newly born infinite loop was causing her entire system to become unresponsive, and was it just her, or was something burning?

"Ah," Chachamaru remarked monotonously, smoke pouring out of her nasal intake cavities. To observing looking on the mounting situation, it was definitely not a good sign, with predictably explosive consequences: her left communications antennae and stabilizer, suffered a sudden catastrophic failure knocking the helpless android off balance.

The resulting cantankerous impact was like an elephant collapsing in the concrete jungle. Although according to Negi's scans, the green-haired android could not have weighed more than three-hundred kilograms at most.

"Please, allow me to speak: Mistress, I have fallen and cannot get up. Running debug script. Error. Retrying process. **Warning**. Error code Zero-X-Ray-Fifty detected: Blue Screen of Death!"

"Hueeeeeeeehhhhh?" Evangeline howled uproariously in flabbergasted disbelief.

For the entire time, she had been cheering on her servant's gallant stand against her tormentor, not that she would ever admit the fact aloud, and thumbing her nose at the offending boy professor. The former Dark Mistress might have had her fallacies as an ex-mortal, but her indomitable servant of steel was incorrigible. Perfect! His vile words laced with honey and poison, had no such effect on her. Ha ha ha ha! Serves him right!

It was a beautiful delusion that the Spectre of the Thousand Master had just now cruelly shattered.

"Ahhh~, what a foul plot twist," The Doctor snickered contemptuously, turning about as if it avert his gaze from the pathetic sight. "In fact, 'tis so foul, I do not feel like playing along with this situation anymore. It smacks of a third-rate sitcom, _**bleh**_, and makes me feel as if I am the villain here, like Fraser's _Flashman _picking on a bunch of Emo Goths for easy lunch money."

"Whose an emo goth, you wiseass jerk?" Evangeline decried. Oh, if only she had enough blood left to risk pulling out these infernal stakes, the vampire would have gone over and taught him a thing or two about Gothic architecture!

"Heh, I knew it. It is useless. It is all absolutely useless!" Negi threw up his hands in frustration, and now, truly began to walk off the staged play. "Why did I even bother from the start? Aahh~, man, what a pain in the you-know-where. My whole eve-ning wasted over some small fry!"

"Hey you, are you even listening to me!"

"I resign."

The sudden onset of stunned silence was quite indicative of one metaphorical shoe dropping, not that Evangeline A.K. MacDowell particularly noticed, since she was preoccupied, well, with being bewildered.

"...Huh?"

Doctor N. Springfield was far from the type of individual to look a gift horse in the mouth, and gladly took his opportunity to make a graceful, though not before leaving a savvy final word at the curtains.

"I am going home, now, so..." he spun about abruptly on his heel in a bowing flourish. "_See you again_, _have a nice dream_, or some rot like tha-"

_**Crack**_!

"UOOOOOWHAAAAAaaahhhhhhh!"

Considering one shoe had already fallen off, Murphy saw no reason not to make the other come loose too, as the oft punished rooftop revealed an unexpected weakness: an improperly set shingle. Naturally, Negi proved to be the poor sucker, stepping on the previously docile disaster waiting to happen. The trigger pulled, catastrophe then struck in a rightly hilarious, if macabre fashion, as an entire section of shingles came dislodged in a noisy, rapid cascade, carrying the prat falling magister magi off with them.

His world was awash in shocking vertigo, and before he knew it, Doctor N. Springfield found himself in dead air, with fifty stories worth of drop to go (approximately sixty feet). A deadly drop, certainly, for most people, but he was a mage and a warrior scholar to boot, so the prospect of imminent death by pancake did not trip his fight or flight reflex the wrong way. Instead, it focused Negi's concentration to precision pinprick of a laser.

Instinctively, the boy professor twisted about in mid-air to face the ground, like a cat about to land on its feet, and brandished his wand. Alas, there was to be no straight shot to the merciless pavement below. What Negi got and did not ask for, was a face full of tree; in fact, it was a very bushy, pink tree.

"Aw, hel-" he managed out before Murphy had his cake and a good belly aching laugh.

Many an unpleasant thwack and snap of wood marked Doctor N. Springfield not so helpfully assisted descent through the rustling canopy. In a twist of irony that he did not fail to appreciate, despite the world of hurt the boy professor was transitioning through, the fates seemed to paying him back much of the same suffering he had caused on the vampire, scaled to his frail relative mortality, of course. It would not do if he were to perish, since the other victim in this long night had been spared by himself out of necessity, which would ruin all sorts of cosmic karma.

The fall lumped with painful impacts seemed to go on forever, but his reprieve came quite fast, dropping on down into the lush bushes below that were situated in a row of soft dirt, freshly inoculated with compost. Overall, it was quite merciful he managed to survive a sixty-foot drop with no more than a lot of bruises and a few cuts; nothing some healing magick could not mend. Negi's wounded pride, though, was a different story, plus his blistering back made him feel like he wanted to die.

"Uh-HO...! G, God...! Da, dammit~...ugh..." the battered magister magi managed to wheeze out hoarsely on his back.

Somehow or another his bluetooth headset and cellphone managed to survive the fall too, perfectly intact and unmoved from their original placement on his miserable person. The fortunate result, however, did not spell relief, but urgent, concerned solicitation from Setsuna Sakurazaki, who heard the whole experience. "N, Negi-kun, what's wrong? How bad are you hurt?"

"I fell... _hah_, off the roof," Negi groaned, ignoring the nearby roar of rockets firing off. It appeared a mutual friend of his had already secured her escape, and as for the bodyguard girl's slip up with his name, well, he would overlook this time. After all, Setsuna had enough sense to not ask him a banal question, namely whether he was hurt, considering his actions thus far spoke for him in full.

"...Don't move. Wait right there. I'll be-"

"Appreciate the thought, but a tree, some bushes, and savvy dirt broke my fall. ...I can walk it off."

"But-"

"Oh, do me favor, please?"

"O-Of course, ask away," Setsuna relented hesitantly, realizing there was no headway to be made arguing with him, when he had made up his mind. Good girl. "Ne...Springfield-sensei."

Though in the future, The Doctor imagined he might be open to suggestions, depending on how their relationship happened to develop. Tonight had been a major test, but it was just the first of many nights.

"Turn off the temporal displacement fields; I would rather not my new delinquent friends have an easy time about getting home tonight."

"Delinquent friends? What do you mean?"

"Ha, do I have a story to," Negi tried to humor his intern with a wry chuckle, as he rose noisily out of the bushes, when something...awful happened. "OH F*** ME~!"

The bold, impetuous invective was the perfect match to the sudden, snapping tension in his back that bled out into full blown, burning agony. He had pulled a muscle, and it hurt. A lot! Mother of all that was unholy, how in the hell did he forget The Master's 18th Cardinal Rule?

Rule No. 18 - Limber up.

Live by the rules; die by the rules, but in more practical terms, he was more so regretting his own gaffe of the lips. True, the Doctor realized he was only mortal. Unlike most people, however, he had a huge image to live by, and there was no telling when some ruffians could be listening in backstage where they were neither welcomed or wanted. It was also his luck then that those very scallywags chose to make an appearance, in spite of their earlier promise to retire for the evening.

"_Mmmm_~, yes~!" Mammon of Greed's erotic moan heralded her coming well in advanced wind of golden butterflies. "YES, PLEASE! Say no more, Master~!"

And where one Sister of Purgatory was to be found, the other was not far behind, as Leviathan of Envy, too, appeared, tackling her younger sisters in a heap of tossing, squirming supple flesh. "Nooo~, stay away from Master, stupid Monmon. I called first go at him!"

Negi slapped his palm to his forehead in embarrassment, and thanked the small mercy that only he was unlucky enough to be privileged to their antics. Though just to be sure, he had to ask a certain reticent girl on the line.

"...hey, Sakurazaki-kun?"

"Y, Yefhg, shen-sei?" came Setsuna's oddly garbled reply, which made him raise an eyebrow.

"Did you hear that just now?"

"N, no. I didn'f hearfgh nothingh."

Okay, he did not want a vague answer like that; what Negi wanted was a very thorough explanation. He could live with her hearing his smart mouth, but not the Stakes! The boy professor was nowhere near prepared to part with his taboo talents that allowed him to call upon the terrible denizens of _Inferno _to do his bidding.

_Sigh_.

"...Sakurazaki-kun. Is there something in your nose?"

"No, Nohse bleedhing, shenshei. It jhust happen," she told him in a flustered tone.

The Doctor rose another eyebrow. A nose bleed she says? Goodness, this was big, fat waste of bloody time is what. Better to call off his questioning until he got home to interrogate her properly in person. "I see, well then, you can go ahead and take care of my request. I will see you in a bit. Overlord Actual, out."

Without waiting for an answered, he killed the line and resolved to march straight back to apartment, with no other detours involved. Case in point, the magister ignored the Stakes exuberant wrestling on the ground that had just escalated to a feminine shriek, accompanied by the tearing of clothes. He was an English gentleman, after all, and it would do for him to be seen after hours in the company of women, not of his own household. What, with an important person of interesting waiting for him back home alongside his simperingly adorable cousin and reticently virtuous intern, how he could possibly be in need of wanting?

Then again, it did look like a grand old time. The only thing missing was mud. Yes. Mud wrestling~!

* * *

Unfortunately, his strained back made sure his prompt arrival ran afoul right from start to finish. It was much, much later than expected when he made it to the halls of the faculty apartment complex, probably around midnight, and he still had classes to teach in the morning. Ha! Quite frankly, Doctor N. Springfield seemed to be literally on his last legs, limping heavily as he leaned on the walls for support.

"Ugh, god damn you," the boy professor berated his weakness between ragged, pained breaths. "Man, I feed you. I clothe you. I exercise you. I try to take the best care of you. And now, you are just going to quit on me? D, _Doh_! ...Well, you are wrong, bugger. Absolutely wrong. You are not allowed to quit on me; that ignominy I shall not suffer, and is certainly not happening on my watch, you wretch. So reach down deep for some of that vaunted testosterone, and move!"

But as much pain as he was in, Negi could not even bear the thought of having his subordinates see him in vivid agony. It clashed with his image, a pretense he was still determined to salvage whatever scraps he could, so for appeared like a small eternity, the boy professor stopped and leaned against the doorframe to his apartment. Inhale, exhale, he repeated to himself zealously like a mantra, to help his mind master his physical pain.

Only when he could smile again, as was customary for him, did The Doctor stand erect, battening down the hatches on his overloaded nerves tight, and rang the doorbell. He did not have to wait long before a familiar sourpuss face answered the door, letting lose an almost uncomfortably cool blast of air conditioning. It was Anya, already dressed for bed in her pajamas. They were conservative silky things in plain light blue that contrasted rather sharply with the characteristic shade of green in her chestnut hued eyes.

After such a long evening, Negi could not be happier to fall back into a routine that set him at ease, as she nodded curtly to him, allowing him entry into their private domain.

"Aw, what is it that ails you with such a long face, An~ya?" he drawled after her in his usual ineffable fashion, closing the door behind him. "Come now, cousin dear, can you not welcome your beloved big brother home after a hard, arduous evening? I would not be adverse, absolutely so, to a kiss or a hug, eh? _Ha_. Just-"

Suffice to say, Anastasia surprised him by turning about abruptly to make good on his offer, right there in the foyer, the petite Russian girl burying herself around his middle with astonishing tenderness.

"Ah."

Amidst the droning hum of the air conditioning, Doctor N. Springfield found himself at a loss of what to say, his mighty intellect failing him, not unlike the day out he spent with the princess of the Kantou Magic Association. Then again, comparing Konoka and him to the magistra magi and him was a poor match at best; they had a rather antagonistic history that still persisted even today. He did not mind the battle line drawn between them, as it helped to keep him grounded in an otherwise worthless reality, a constant he could count on any time.

Aside from his previous experiences of dancing with her, the sudden solidarity was without a doubt uncharted territory, and it made him a little nervous. Just what was Negi supposed to say or do now?

"Stupid onion," the redhead mumbled sulkily under her breath.

Well, erm, how... unusually sweet of her. Perhaps, she had been genuinely concerned with his well being, aside from the possibility of losing her sweet paycheck? Ha. That will be the...WAIT a second here! Why were his palms tingling?

"You really, really, really..."

_Crack_.

"**VEX ME**."

"AAAAAAAGHHHhhhhhhhhh! JESUS CHRIST, MY BACK!" Negi howled like a little schoolboy, all pretenses flushed down the toilet in an eye watering blaze of agony. A sneak attack. It had been a sneak attack! The Ruskies are coming! The Ruskies are coming!

"Do not use the Lord Jesus Christ's name in vain," the Russian Red admonished him irritably, as her harsh bear hug tightened another notch to his injured vitals.

"AAAAAAAGHHHHHHhhh! O' LORD~, TAKE ME NOW!" he really regretted adding the sound dampening magicks to the walls at the moment, which made the neighbors none the wiser to his suffering. It was domestic violence, dammit, and he was the victim here, clear as day!

Thankfully, his cries had been plenty to satisfy her gluttonous desire for revenge, and the Ruskie girl pulled away, allowing him a reprieve after what seemed like an eternity of promised pain realized, but judging by her darkly satisfied smile, their cold war was far from over. Doctor N. Springfield just knew she would add this unsightly incident to her bag of tricks that would one day forge a true Sword of Damocles to be hung over his head. In the meantime, he could only hope to regain the initiative and capitalize on his gains, before the great disparity between the two of them no longer matter.

Anya beckoned him to follow her into the living room, and grudgingly the boy professor found he could not refuse such an oh-so-reasonable request.

"Ugh... S, so, **ahem**, where is that Sakurazaki fellow?" Negi asked his smug companion, hoping to direct the conversation anywhere but at him, only to realize too late the triteness of his query. Goodness gracious, was he slipping! If Setsuna were here, the wannabe samurai girl would have come running the moment he started screaming like a banshee.

"I told her she could go home for the night some time ago. Her nosebleed was being about as cooperative as her lips, which isn't much to say."

"Right~... Is the princess awake?"

"She was, until I stunned her."

Negi balked, "...You did what?"

"I gave her a light dosage of _Stupefy_," Anya informed him unabashedly, gesturing towards the seemingly sleeping form Konoka Konoe laid out on their couch. "Don't fear. I didn't tell that to our zealous barbarian colleague."

"...B, but, why would you-did you do that? I mean, could you not have been more gentle and lady-like in using something like, I dunno, a sleep inducing spell?"

"I could've, except it was a spur of the moment situation, and the incantation for that kind of _girlish _aria would have taken too long. You wouldn't want to be dealing with the prospect of having to play with her memories now, would you?"

"You could have just shortened it," mumbled the magister magi, with a wince, discovering his own opportunity to sulk.

"...Shortened it? What are you talking about?" Anya gave him a look, the one that screamed 'Are you mad, man?'

Why yes he was mad! A very mad, mad man too, and now, Negi had to cover another one of his trade secrets that he did not mean to give away just yet.

"Ah ha ha, sorry! Me? Just nitpicking as always. Heh he he he! Or it could be the pain in my back giving me a case of haughty delusions that you so unhelpfully exacerbated, see?"

"_Feh_. Figures," his secretary rolled her eyes at him, before giving him the "come hither" knife hand gesture, which if she did not mind, he did not particularly trust at present, thanks to a recent trauma. Duh! "Well, c'mon, let's wake her up and get this over with, brother dear."

"Sure~! And, what script would you like to start with for the counseling sessions, my dearest cousin?"

"The one that begins with... So, Konoe-san, what was the last thing you **couldn't **remember?"

How atypically straightforward of his much beloved poison pink polka dot chihuahua, attacking their delicate predicament with a surgical application of overkill. Then again, he would not have liked her any other way.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

_Gott in Himmel_! I did it, AGAIN. Arrrghhhhhhhh! Why~? I thought this would be short and all sorts of other cool things would happen, but it's Negima! - Period 17 the redux in 10,000+ words! That chapter was originally only 15 pages of artwork! This one's 32 pages long!

Gahhhh!

...I promise not to do this again, any time soon. I swear to god, people. I can't keep torturing you all like this with huge walls of text. The madness needs to get a rest for a while.

On the bright side, a lot happened in this chapter on the micro scale. Lots of little character growths and details. The fight was pretty much two opponents who grossly underestimated and-or overestimated each other at different points of time. You could say it was one big laugh out loud worthy facepalm of misunderstandings.

I admit Evangeline got burned pretty badly, but hey, she is a vampire, so that level of physical damage is no big deal to her. Hell, she has probably put herself through a lot worse when she used to operate at full strength as the Dark Evangel. If anything, we should be more concerned about her emotional trauma from this event. Hu hu hu hu! But, don't worry you Eva-sama fans; I promise the ending for this arc will not disappoint.

As for The Doctor, I hope you all enjoyed another teaser at his full arsenal. I may try to consider doing one more teaser, but as far as the mage side of the equation and tactics, he is a smooth operator, who knows when he's beaten and it's time to make like George Washington.

My description of his fusion with the Dark Elemental and what they were doing was not the best, I admit. My visual references were a combination of Prototype's Alex Mercer, Marvel Comics' Blackheart, and a bit of The Darkness. The chase scene was more of an homage to Iron Man 2 than the original manga format, plus nods to The Incredible Hulk movies and Prototype.

What else? ...God, I'm tired. I'm finishing this up right around midnight, and for the life of me, I can't think of anything else that needs to be addressed.

So once again thanks for your time and hats off to the reviewers. Sorry, I haven't gotten around to assessing any potential replies yet, because I have been completely consumed by this monster of a chapter. That said, I hope it was satisfactory and folks will be back for my next gig. The Invisible Eva was caught off guard this time, but next time, she'll definitely fire off a solid hits across the indomitable HMS Springfield's bow too.

Oh, and Chachmaru's just great, isn't she? She withstood those salvos valiantly that she did. Let's hope she'll fair better in the future. And... And... I forgot what I was going to say. Dammit, I'm tired.

No more epic long chapters for a while, please.

Next gig? Eeee, dealing with the fallout of this skirmish and beginning the planning for the best campaign yet!

Peace.


	12. Chapter 12

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. WARNING: there is some content ahead that might trigger an unexpected case of maniacal grinning. You have been warned.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 12:

When You're Tired Eat Something Sour

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

The morning after, as much as he anticipated, was not to be a pleasant day for Doctor N. Springfield. Despite the advances in the arcane sciences, healing magick were processes that were very much behind the times, by and large. Many spells were just refinements on the principle of accelerated natural healing, and few could be called true regenerative "healing". As wondrous the substance of mana was, it was far from being the much vaunted Philosopher's Stone, able to be transmuted into any matter at will.

Negi could hardly afford to use his knowledge of battlefield medicine, as most of those magicks were related to dealing immediately with trauma and first aid. There were other options in his doctor's bag, all with their distinctive benefits and drawbacks, but in the end, he had to opt for a simple over the counter solution. The boy professor could not afford having a relapse later down the road, because convenience did not equate a thoroughly done job.

Processing Konoka Konoe the night before had not helped him seed a speedy recovery either, but it was necessary, and he would be remiss in his duties for not seeing it through to the end. The princess had woken to quite a fright, clinging like a small shivering animal to the upholstery for a good few minutes, before Negi was able to sooth her fears with assuring platitudes. It would have been courteous of his dear "cousin" to have added the weight of her words to the effort, too, but the Little Big Red seemed to enjoy watching him play the good cop (read: strain his already taxed body further).

How The Doctor wished fervently to wipe that vivacious glee off her pretty face. However, he was a magnanimous, graceful loser, and understood the value of humility, even if it was becoming a protracted lesson in masochism. His back hurt. A LOT. And from the pit of his black heart, Negi wanted nothing to do with the processing of Konoka Konoe, which took roughly the better part of the late hour to finish.

The princess, obviously, was surprised and relieved to see them, admitting simperingly she had gone out to investigate the rumor of the vampire on Cherry Blossom Street, just a little, while running an errand on the side. Konoka confirmed Negi's suspicions, more or less, that she shared a secret love for the occult, which was now not so secret anymore, since her classmate and teacher had been brought abreast of her fancy. Alas for the excitable girl, her adventure tonight did not yield such a fantastical creature, but a far more real threat, thanks to the incriminating images Anya had already copied and then doctored over, with some commercially available image "enhancement" software.

It appeared in all of her enthusiasm she got bit with a case of hysteria, when Konoka met up with a true blue sexual predator on the prowl. Only by her good fortune did The Doctor happen upon the scene by chance, having spotted her leaving from the girls dormitory earlier, while making good on his rounds for the voluntary curfew patrols run by the faculty and sometimes student volunteers. The fuzzy images were not good enough to be turned in as evidence, but they most assuredly disproved any farfetched theories regarding vampires.

Thus, the princess was grateful for her rescue, and Negi was pleasantly surprised by his secretary's unexpected computing skills. It looked to be a picture perfect ending to the evening, but as they all made to escort the Kantou Magi Association's pride and joy back to her overdue bed time, he could not help but make note of a disturbing observation. The Doctor had yet to share his notes with another soul, and for the life of him, he could not scrub the image from his damnably precise memory either.

Konoka Konoe had looked disquietingly disappointed for a moment there, sulking with pouted lips on the couch, like a spoiled child. Had it been her desire truly to meet a vampire in the flesh? If so, it was dangerous thinking. Negi had no wish to shoulder the responsibility of correcting such distorted thinking. His mandate as her protector only went as far as her physical well-being, but as a teacher his room to maneuver was far broader. Alas, there was a conflict of jurisdiction. He had not been authorized to reveal openly the hand he played in the princess' daily living beyond being her teacher and acquaintance, nor was he allowed to reveal the harsh truth of the terrors in the Wizarding World.

Therefore, he was effectively powerless to do anything in a subject that deserved full disclosure. Vampires were not a laughing matter. Marauding packs of newly "minted" undead could overwhelm a sleepy, unprepared hamlet within days and extinguish all life within a month, while more advanced nosferatu can perform the same feat by themselves alone. Bloody hell, the princess herself almost became a vintage blood wine for one, or worse!

He should have confided in Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova, but what good would it have done other than to ease his own frustration at the increasingly apparent, and irrational mandate he operated within? Besides, thinking sourly about the subject helped him to walk a little faster, unexpectedly, and Negi had happily bid Konoka the early morning before making himself scarce, with his favorite poison pink polka dot chihuahua in tow. The princess aside, they still had a long day ahead, and much less sleep than usual to accomplish their missions.

There was data that needed to be analyzed, an after action report to be written in triplicate, and an official debrief to be given to the Dean, for his daughter had been attacked and he would want to know the details of the circumstances. Doctor N. Springfield would hope rather that the old raccoon would have the patience to wait, since paperwork did not complete itself overnight spontaneously. Dossiers and presentations take up a lot of human resources, too, in order to come to their fruition.

The last thing Negi needed, still hurting badly and a little sleep deprived, when he started homeroom on that terrible Monday morning was an unwanted surprise.

"I beg your pardon, miss," the boy professor huffed at the ineffable interloper standing in the threshold of his classroom, for all to see. "But who are you? And what are you doing in my class?"

Class 3-A seemed to be happy to answer the question for him, and welcome another amongst their illustrious number back to the fold in a gushing wall of conversation that came crashing in like a tidal wave.

"Uwah~! Lookie, lookie! It's Chachamaru-chan~!"

"Really?"

"Wow, it really is!"

"Oh! Welcome back, Chacha-tan."

"Did you have a nice trip? How was Hawaii?"

"Hey, is Eva-chan doing well?"

"Did you meet any cute boys~? _Kya_, _kya_, _kya_!"

The Doctor did not want to believe Murphy was having a roaring good time at his expense, again, in so few hours, and that by some dumb luck, he had parked his fabulous rear on Pandora's Box for the better part of seven odd months, the fuse set the moment he opened his class handbook. Well, surprise-surprise, the damning evidence was right underneath his nose all along, and that contemptible Takamichi T. Takahata even had the gall to recommend him asking his newest pain in the backside for advice should he run into trouble!

Trouble? He had a ripe pair of mangy delinquents in his class, whom had questionable moral compasses, and were a stranger combination to boot: a _Dracula _wannabe and _I, Robot_ in the making! Oh, Takahata better pray they that he and the boy professor did not happen to conveniently cross paths in the next few hours, because Negi had had had it with the bespectacled man's incompetence. He was mad as hell, and he was not going to take it anymore!

Good grief, Negi breathed, his brow pinched in embattled patience. "Pray tell, if I am not wrong in inferring from the gossip of your classmates, you do possess an in~teresting explanation why seven months later... You see it fit now to make a grand appearance in my humble classroom, Karakuri Chachamaru-san, Student Number Ten?"

"Please, allow me to speak: yes, _sensei_, you are correct," the android girl bowed to him, observing absolutely impeccable decorum that almost made him blush, before procuring a white sealed envelope from her book bag. "All the details you may require are included within."

"Why, thank you, and does this also include a convenient excuse why your colleague, I presume based on the warm reception here..." the boy professor shot a meaningful nod towards the class of mostly grinning, excited girls, who promptly exploded into giggles and laughter at his attention. "Is missing as well?"

"Negative, so I regret to inform you, _sensei_; the fact is, MacDowell-san is attending school, but she is boycotting your classes in protest."

Ah, what a pain; looking at her for too long really irritated his sense of aesthetics. It was a miracle she had not been discovered for what she was truly, with all her imperfections, but... WHAT? Negi blinked, jarred from his thoughts by her inflammatory words, his back thrown erect, as if a jolt of lightning had just jumped through him.

"I beg your pardon?"

Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor spotted a similar wave of disquiet spreading through his flock. Asuna Kagurazaka was one thing, but his traditional opponent had never gone as far as to refuse actually attending his classes in person. The little sharks in the darkest recesses of the girls' hearts smelled blood in the water, a delicious scandal in the making, and who were they to refuse a free meal at the gossip mill?

Chachamaru Karakuri went right on talking, like the well-behaved "living doll" she was, and ignorant apparently of the waves she was making through the flesh and blood students.

"It is I say, regrettably, _sensei_. MacDowell-san is here but has expressed no desire to attend your classes. Shall I recall her, _sensei_?"

Oh no, Karakuri-san, thought Negi disparagingly, as he tore his gaze and shot a profusely pointed look at his secretary, with the intensity of a laser beam. By all means, you must not strain yourself now, especially when you have done bloody quite enough to put my reputation on the headman's block, for the umpteenth time since I began teaching here!

It was a card the boy professor played rarely, and the shocking effect was instantaneous, causing Anya to sit up, ramrod straight. Caught off guard, her wide-eyed expression squirmed fretfully in dread of whatever bout of unreasonable rationale he was about to unleash from his parting lips. She understood the implications of the affront well enough, but never in their short time together had she seen her roommate and boss, so...electrifying tyrannical.

"AN~AS~TASIA~!" The Doctor bellowed in his peculiarly accented English, the savvy one he used whenever he wanted to be unabashedly full frontal and to the point.

God, how she hated herself for being powerless to resist his bullying cry, but a hint of danger in his tone, said plenty to her lower lizard brain that now was not a good time to sass Negi Springfield. So, Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova bolted upright out of her seat like the anxious and a little bit scarred schoolgirl she was, blubbering her readiness to obey in Russian, "Y, Yes, Springfield-sensei!"

"'ere's me lesson plan. Ye teach 'em to the wild bunch, and Miss Yukihiro can be y'er deputy. Fortune willing, I shall return before the period's over."

Oh, a lesson plan; how convenient. Wait. Should she not be speaking in English? Or more appropriately in Japanese for those candy brained twats, who had yet to join the multilingual world society? ...HUUUHHH? He was serious!

"Wha, wh, WHAT? B, But...! Hey! Where are **you **going?" the panicked magistra magi shouted at the debonair form of her employer, who gestured to the new girl to wait outside the classroom for him.

"Elementary, my dear cousin. I've gots me a delinquent to catch. Hip, hip, cheerio! Carry on, and have a nice class, eh?"

And with a parting bow, Class 3-A exploded into a pandemonium of questions and shrill giggling, as Doctor N. Springfield made himself scarce, slamming the lid shut to Pandora's Box. The girls might not have been fluent in English, but whatever broken pieces of conversation they managed to decipher had its intended effect, igniting the metaphorical powder keg that had already been spilled all over the floor. As much as he regretted leaving his beloved poison pink polka dot chihuahua and the vivacious young lady of Yukihiro in the ensuing conflagration, Negi had confidence they could wrangle the rank and file to follow his directives.

Though, admittedly, it was awful rotten of him to leave them hanging, danger close to the killzone, but he imagined it would be an excellent character-building experience for them both. Negi would be sure to reward them both with some angel food cake later. In the meantime, he had a vampire hunt to start.

"Now, Chachamaru-san," the boy professor addressed the dutifully waiting android to his right. "Where might I find our missing classmate, if you do not mind me asking?"

It was awful gracious of her not to slug him out, with a sucker punch, in the middle of school, so it lead him to believe that either had standing orders for a cease fire outside of effective business hours... Or she had a questionable sense of fair play to match her misguided sense of morality.

"I am unable to find a reason to decline, _sensei_," Chachamaru told him plainly. "Might I suggest the school roof on the west wing side?"

"Why, thank you!" although inwardly, Negi was quite surprised she was being so open with him. Could this be a trap, or was his intent and purpose well within whatever parameters of some grand stratagem hidden away behind those cool neon green photoreceptors? ...Also, why the school rooftop? Sunlight, generally, was not convivial to the health of vampires. "...Ah, wait, the thought almost slipped my mind. Silly me. Please, wait."

Well, there was no time like the present to find out, although he had his own growing suspicions already, but first, he had more decree to make. Opening a classroom window from the hallway, the one he learned quickly was always unlocked, the boy professor was nearly bowled over by the shear volume of noise. Class 3-A really knew how to get loud, but Negi was no slouch either.

"GIRLS!" and with one thundering shout of his own, nearly scaring the skirt off of Madoka Kugimiya (No. 11), he captured their attentions in a heartbeat. "Let it be known henceforth that Karakuri-san and MacDowell-san are on my very dissatisfied hotlist of unsatisfactory pupils. If they give me even a reason to sneeze, I will put them on disciplinary action, whether it be detention or remedial lessons, whatever enlightenment they happen to need. Are we clear?"

"Kyaa, kyaa, kyaa~! Yes, Springfield-sensei~!" came the roaring unanimous cry, with enough sweet enthusiasm to make his cheeks ache.

It was rightly what he wanted to hear, barring the fascinatingly dark look from a flustered Anya, which promised some green-eyed misery for him later down the road, but the boy professor would bother to give a damn when he arrived at that burning bridge. Closing the window shut, Negi returned his attention to Chachamaru, who once again had been kind enough not to do something untoward to him, while his back was turned. Goodness gracious, he was starting to find it very hard to believe that a mangy, blood-sucking leech would have such a proper "living doll" commissioned for her employ.

Then again, it raised the possibility she might belong to someone else, and was on loan to the said amateurish ankle biter, thought Negi, inclining his chin meaningfully at the neon green-haired android. "Now then, welcome back, Karakuri-san, and I hope you will discover my classes to be engaging and well worth your time **to be **on time, yes?"

"Yes, _sensei_," Chachamaru nodded, a remarkable human-like quirk.

He had to tip his hat to whoever designed her personality layer; subroutines that emulated body language were difficult subtleties, which would look embarrassingly wrong if executed at the wrong time or place. Perhaps, she owed her success thus far to such emulation that allowed her to go undetected by the human test population? Indeed, if the purpose of the presumed experiment was to develop a better personality blue print, then the use of such sub-par materials to "clothe" her hull was acceptable to a degree.

"Good, now that you and I have a mutual understanding, please, do remain here and assist my cousin, Cocolova-san, and our good class representative in teaching my material as well. Good morning **and **see you again. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Negi offered an obligatory bow, treating the incredulous situation as if now was the first time they had ever met.

Of course, it was not particularly strange to him, considering he lead a double life himself. Genius, heart throbbing boy professor by day and a private security contractor by night was his way of life, so why should he surprised that his wayward student was a misguided, though accepted delinquent by day and a loyal, mercenary "killer doll" by night?

"Ah... It is I who should be saying that: please, take good care of us from now on, as well, Springfield-sensei."

What Doctor N. Springfield could not help but be intrigued by was the sudden hesitation he sifted from Chachamaru's reply. She had hesitated, again, how ever briefly before returning his bow, and was it just him, or was the ambient air temperature around him that much hotter all of a sudden? Worse yet, the android girl had asked a most irrational request of her partner and-or boss's enemy that he take good care of them.

Way to shackle my hands and ankles together in irons, girl, thought Negi with a disillusioned snort, as he left the scene procuring a bottle of painkillers from his blazer. He was not due for a dose until another three hours, but the perniciously accumulating stresses was aggravating his suffering back, _badly_. As if I was not going to start giving you all a handicap, once I was brought abreast of the facts!

Goodness gracious, what did he do his past life to deserve the unreasonable fate of having to make war with his own students? NNnnghhhh! How atrocious. ...Whatever their excuses might be: Miss Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, Mister Konoemon Konoe, and that louse, Takamichi T. Takahata, better have interesting explanations for his inquiry, or there was going to be hell to pay!

And Doctor N. Springfield, so did love to make good on his **ultimatums**.

* * *

Suffice to say, it did not take long for The Doctor to find his first victim. As promised, he discovered Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, dressed properly the school uniform no less, catnapping on the school rooftop, in broad daylight. There was no mistaking it. For how could he forget the arrogant face of the very same little trollop of a vampire he had been indiscriminately in the process of humiliating every fiber of her being, short of physically ravaging her, like a disgusting beast. Negi would never dare to stoop so low, and in so doing, violate his vows. He was an English gentleman, a savvy man of class and a dastardly sense of honor, who could recite scripture just like the Devil, when it suited his purposes.

He was a bastard, but not a "F***ING BASTARD", although glancing at the troubling MacDowell in repose through the glass porthole inset in the door, his academic mind found itself intrigued by the possibilities. They came in any combination of "being long lived enough to have earned a boon from her sire's blood to resist the rays of the sun", "using dark magicks to buck convention", or "in spite of her relative youth, she is from a rare stock of daywalkers; hence, her immunity" for starters. The permutations of the premises were many, but at the least he could be sure that Evangeline could not be extinguished by sunlight.

Not that a little setback would stop Doctor N. Springfield from stepping up to the challenge of putting the fear of God into her; he was more determined than ever, and the boy professor eagerly began the destined hour with a bang. He kicked the door open, dynamic entry-style.

"Well well, what do we have here!" Negi's lips compressed into a thin murderous smile, as the surprised vampire stirred from her slumber in a flabbergasted splutter. "A haughty, brat of a delinquent, with a washboard chest, and flat split-haired dirty blonde rags that thinks she can get away scot-free from ditching MY class? Ho ho ho ho! Hey, washboard, did you miss the stop at the elementary school a couple blocks back? Did you, now~, short stuff?"

Evangeline scrambled hurriedly to her feet, with all the grace of a misbehaving child caught in the act of mischief. She had something to say in her honorable defense, but the moment her newly christened archenemy's flaming vitriol hit her, a vicious wind of anger snuffed out the flame of reason in a heartbeat.

"_Uuuuuuuuu_-! Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!" each word she punctuated by stomping, petulantly, on the floor. "You. BASTARD!"

"Why, thank you very much," Negi's smile widened to the Cheshire cat's proportions. If there was ever a time, Evangeline should be worried, now would be the appropriate moment to panic. "And if you have had quite enough of the sweet pleasantries, let us be onto business... Hurry up and move! Do I look like I enjoy allowing you to use my shadow for shade? Ho~! ...**Bow down**, you terrible egoist, before I have to lay hands on you, and swat you down, like the shameless mosquito you are."

The first salvo from the _HMS Springfield _was brutal, hitting her bow and stern. Armor piercing warheads penetrated deep through all eighteen layers of armor plating, with enough punch to put easily ten thousand fists to shame, leaving but a fraction of an inch from the Jeffery's tubes. However, _Her Worshipful Darkness II_ had learned from the previous conflict, hanging by a thread, and had just enough steam to return fire from her crippled main batteries.

"An, an-d you call yourself, an Eng~lish gentleman? Ha! What rubbish. You wouldn't dare lay a finger on me!"

Alas, her gunnery still left much to be desired, falling well short of the indomitable Springfield.

"Now now, you may delude yourself into thinking I am too hurt to lift a finger against you, but do stop showing off your worthlessness, you flippantly annoying, unsightly Gothic lolita. Where is your ugly mascara and powder white foundation you are said to be so fond of? Hmmm? Forgot it at home? The weather too hot for you that it would cause the sun to melt the ingredients down to muck, and reveal your rotting, maggot infested flesh? HA. Be ashamed! And know your place, wormfood!"

He was only too happy to reply to her insolence, with a full merciless barrage of thundering cannon, sending the unfortunate battleship to an early watery grave. And once more, the great Evangeline found herself brought to heel by a merely uplifted "monkey" that she so very much despised.

"NNNnnnnnnghhhhh! G-G-GAMMIT! ...A, again. AGAIN. Y, you! YOU~! Uuuuuuuawwaghhhhhhh!"

"I am far from being an invalid, you ankle biting trollop," Negi sighed airily, as if he were smoking on a cigar, big fat Cuban ones at that too. "But seeing as it is my civic duty to clean up the garbage around these deplorable parts, I suppose I have no choice but to get my hands dirty with your putrid filth. Nevertheless, fear not, my **un**-pretty one, I will renovate your sorry maggoty brain housing group, quite...thoroughly. By the time we are finished, you would have completed a certified education from the _University _of **Hard **_**Knocks**_, upgrading your status from an unwanted cadaver, your ashes mixed and fired, remolded into my favorite little teapot, short and stout!"

The _HMS Springfield_ was steaming full ahead, making straight for the enemy docks.

"_Kkuuh_! D, Don't come any closer, you English bastard!"

It was going to be a massacre, as the defenders fired the coastal batteries of light cannon in futile resistance.

"Right on cue with your scream, my dear; now, watch me do it anyway!"

Again, His mighty main guns belched fury and thunder, and smote down the valiant men punitively in a terrible conflagration of screeching flame and metal.

"Huahhh?"

"Because I am WELSH...not English, you bloody ditz!" Negi bellowed, pouring on the fire like a mad man. "Get it right next time, because it will be a bonus question on the reading comprehension test. Now, Come 'ERE!"

"Eeeeekkk~!" Evangeline squealed, narrowly slipping past his striking, almost serpentine hands.

The merry chase was on, between two disparately different classes of hunter and prey.

"Who are you? WHAT. are you?"

"Wh-Why would I tell you, _boy_~? H, Huu~waaah!"

"Oh~? Then have it your way, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell!"

"H, How dare you speak my name, you insufferable-_UWAaaa~h_!"

"**Ha**, better pay attention, _**girl**_~; I almost had you there."

"Go away! I have nothing to say to you!"

Evangeline A.K. MacDowell's diminutive washboard size proved to be more challenging than he initially anticipated. She was an elusive target. Doctor N. Springfield had more reach, but he would not stoop as low as to grab her by the hair. It was unsportsmanlike conduct for starters, and it would be a disservice to her wily flexibility. Besides, the boy professor was starting to enjoy this impromptu game of tag.

"Well, I have a mountain or ten worth of dung to say to you!" he shouted gleefully at the pint-sized vampire. "What were you doing out there last night, huh? And why the bloody hell did you do something so flipping inane? Do. You. Have. Any idea what kind of putrescent, rotting can of worms you just opened up, **girl**?"

"Last night? Heeehhhh? What are you talking about? Why, don't you tear your guts out and die already, little puppy?"

"Sure, after you finish decomposing, you rotten sourpuss cadaver! Who do you work for, huh? I never knew vampires could be so ornery and flea bitten that they need to take handouts from not-so-perfect strangers!"

Those words he spoke in perfect timing, as he had finally succeeded in cornering the little delinquent wench. Evangeline was winded, and breaking out into a ripe sweat, which was odd; very odd. If anything, she should have been giving him the run around, and quite frankly could have made good on her taunts herself. So why was it she was tired and he was still ready to go for another hour or five?

Nevertheless, she seemed to be determined to make her last stand, and Negi would not dream of disrupting her glorious speech.

"_Uuuuuu_! What do you know, you joke? You charlatan. Y, YOU...! Good for nothing... Im, Impostor! You: Specter of The Thousand Master! I, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, will never again answer to any one. I will be free, and I will have my revenge, even if it takes making a hundred thousand puss oozing, hamburger-sized corpses of you!"

As far as glorious last stand speeches went, he would give her a seventy for effort, but the material needed more work, and...

"Blah, blah, blah! Wha-AARRGGHH, my back!" Negi yelped, like a wounded animal, as he felt the pinprick of her elbow slam into the small of his back in passing. The squirrely little runt had slipped through his fingers, again! Ah, the indignation! "Wa, wait, you! YOU~. I am not finished with you yet~!"

On second thought, The Doctor would give his adversary a passing grade: eighty points for the turn around, and five bonus points for pulling an _akanbe_ on him and sticking out her tongue too. He might have given another five points, if she started spanking her buttocks and put on display her idea of underwear, before making good her escape, but then Negi would have to start wondering if he had acquired another unwanted fetish. Necrophilia was not a subject he wanted to entertain in the slightest.

Try as he might have he failed catch her, but the boy professor did come away entirely empty handed. In putting the fear of god into Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, Negi believed himself to be successful without a doubt. Who would not be scared of a roiled Welsh man on the rampage? More importantly, he had managed to extract some critical intelligence; leads that could help him unravel the strange plot that had now caught his interest, which the magister magi filed away for his later perusal.

At present though, he was more concerned if he would forced to crawl back to class on his hands and knees to make good on his promise. The vampire's parting shot, however miniscule, had undone all the miraculous work of his adrenaline and painkillers put together, in an instant; to stay standing was proving to be a Herculean task, even for the inglorious basterd himself.

_Ugh_, today could not be over soon enough.

* * *

To his extreme disappointment, it was already lunchtime, when Professor Negi Springfield succeeded in smuggling his aching personage back into his classroom. If he had used sorcery, he probably could have made it in time, but the boy professor stubbornly refused to make his arduous journey any easier on himself. The pain would serve as an unforgettable reminder of his carelessness, not that Negi believed he could best Murphy's Law every time, but had he worn proper protection, things could have turned out quite differently the evening prior.

Now, the bespectacled teen had not forgotten anything, in particular, but felt that as penance, he ought to be here in his classroom to reflect for a little while, before following through on the rest of his itinerary for the day. The Dean still owed the pleasure of his company, and he needed to pay a visit to Kazumi Asakura. Hopefully, the paparazzi girl should have "solid" rumors about Miss MacDowell and her accomplice, because like it or not, Negi had the sinking suspicion Konoemon Konoe was not going to be terribly forthcoming.

See, things were not adding up. If Mahora Academy truly possessed the best security money could buy, how could they possibly miss the threat of a vampire masquerading amongst the student body? Oh, and last he checked androids based on Terran technology was still in the infancy phase, but somehow, The Doctor the dumb luck to be in the same class as a working prototype? No way. Something stank; no, a lot of something's were stinking a right, proper landfill.

At the rate things were going, Negi would not be surprised if there were a handful of potential young sorceresses in his class! Next week, he would be introduced to the local Shinto demon huntress with a penchant for modern firepower, and a true blue throwback kunoichi, descended from the great ninja clans in ancients times during the Warring States era. Ha! As if such incredulous things could happen, he was living in reality, not an anime.

...Ah, if he only knew at the time how wrong he was, Doctor N. Springfield's heart might have been better prepared for the onslaught of absurdity. In the meantime, he had bigger fish to fry, such as the boor who had the nerve to interrupt his thoughts, by barging into his classroom, like she owned the place.

"Ah... I-It, it's you... Huh?" a flustered Asuna Kagurazaka greeted him, as she closed the door shut behind her. To be fair, he was just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. "You never did come back..._sensei_."

"Catching delinquents is hard work, Kagurazaka-kun," Negi answered her plainly, from where sat behind his desk, before directing his gaze elsewhere. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your volatile presence, if I am not so bold in asking?"

"H, Hey, don't take this the wrong way, all right? It's not like I came here just to see you, _hmph_."

"Kagurazaka, you realize you just spouted the lamest excuse my brain has had the displeasure of dissecting yet, and I find you wanting. Your book bag is not at your desk, and no one's belongings have been left behind, so the only logical conclusion is elementary... In fact, you are still here, engaging me in small talk. Therefore, it is only logical you came here to see me."

"I-I...! I just-! Um..."

"_Heh_. How trivial. This level of reasoning is easily possible for I, Doctor N. Springfield. What do you think, Kagurazaka Asuna-san? Do you have a credible rebuttal against my truth?"

"_Oooo_! Ergh. Just! What-Ever!" Asuna threw up her hands in exasperation, accompanied by trilling ring of her hair bells. He was sorely tempted to needle his pet somewhere in anticipation of her throwing a tantrum, but found his plans derailed, when she favored him with a most uncommonly vulnerable stare. "...Th, thanks..."

"I beg your pardon, Kagurazaka-kun?" maybe Negi heard her wrong, or so he told himself. Why on Earth would she have any reason to thank him at present time? The boy professor, most assuredly, did not remember doing the choleric redhead any favors, as of late, so what gives?

"I said: Thanks! ...O, o-kay?"

"And to what do I owe this honor?"

"Y, you know what I mean! It, it's not like I wanted to owe you, b-but it is what it is, right? So... B, Bye!"

Quite frankly, it was the strangest expression of gratitude Doctor N. Springfield had the pleasure of experiencing in a good long while, leaving him more befuddled than gratified. There were theories and utter crackpot mechanistic flow charts of premises that led up to his present conundrum already mucking up the better part of his beautiful mind, which he mercilessly took a flamethrower to, in order to shut up the thousand screaming mouths vying for his attentions. Or in other words, Negi thought it way too presumptuous of him to assume that Konoka Konoe's simpering blabbing at the mouth resulted in the bizarre happening.

Of course, it would be reasonable to think her embellished recollection of last night's events could spark such a reaction, but for the life of him, he did not want to think of such things. Because if Asuna Kagurazaka knew, chances were he was about to get a lot of thanks in the next several days for his supposed gallantry, and the other girls probably would not stop at a "thank you very much for your service". Oh no, knowing Class 3-A and his legion of eye-screaming fans, they might just throw themselves at his feet and ask that he proceed forward over their very bodies, because the flowers they ordered to make a path for him did not arrive on schedule.

Good grief was this school a mad house, and he was about to get jumped by another one of its patients.

"Heyyy~, Springfield-sensei; just the fella I was looking for, _fu fu fu_!" interjected the newest interloper into his temporary sanctum, whose presence seriously made Negi wonder if his fears were not unfounded, after all.

"Asakura Kazumi-san. How _egregiously_ convenient," the boy professor breathed dryly in sharp contrast to the grinning brunette's enthusiasm, "of you to appear before me, now."

"Awww~, don't be so cold like that, _sensei_. _Kusukusu_! Aren't we already, like, the best of pals or something to that effect, eh?"

"I beg your pardon, but I recall no such relationship of what-have-you's, aside from our professional relationship, as teacher and pupil, and sometimes client and contractor."

"_Mou_~, so stingy," Kazumi pouted, as she shut the door behind her, and locked it. "But that's the Springfield-sensei, I know, for ya, folks! _Kusukusu_!"

Negi raised a brow. He appreciated her thoughtfulness, but would not a locked door, do more harm than good at deflecting suspicion? "You appear to be in a jolly mood, Asakura-kun, which I can only interpret to mean that somewhere, some when, something horrifically embarrassing is happening to someone else."

"_Kya_, _kya_, _kya_! _Mou~_, _sensei_, you flatter me too much."

"Should I be worried that you did not deny it or confirm my offhand suspicions? ...I think I should be. Yes. Very much worried."

"Aww, shucks!" she pinched coyly at her ear, while one arm clasped her raised elbow, forming L-shaped bridge. It might have appeared oh-so riveting to lesser men, but The Doctor knew better, for what the gesture meant, truly. I'd love to play like this all day long with you, Springfield-sensei, but actually I'm here on business. Do you mind?"

It was a sign of nerves. Kazumi was about to ask him something absurd, and Negi was not going to let her have her way scot-free, if he could help it. "Oh? Really, now? Well, fancy that; I, too, had a similar agenda in mind. You or I first?"

"Go fish, _sensei_!"

How kind of her to allow him the position of being the White King, in which case he must not disappoint her now. Oh, absolutely not!

"Build me a dossier on whatever you know and-or can dig up on Evangeline A.K. MacDowell and Karakuri Chachamaru. The going rate is a thousand yen, and you have two business days to complete the task, with a chance of a bonus, if I find the workmanship to be top notch."

The Papparrazi girl broke out into an astonished cry, giggling merrily all the way, as she entered the fray with her knights leading the charge.

"_Fuwhaa_~! _Sen-sei~_, you are just too much. The other day you were into possible net idols and blue blood _ojou_-sama; now, you are moving onto Gothic Lolita and Android Cosplay already? _Mou_~, that's rough; I can't keep up with you like this, y'know. There's a perfectly hot-blooded young woman right here, but you're just right and sorry, giving poor ol' me the whole runaround. What's next? Yankee Playboy Bunnies, hmm~?"

Negi paid no heed to her taunting, fortifying his defense with a castling maneuver, but no before gracing the board with a shot of of his own.

"Please, do not joke about that, or I might have to reconsider why I let you prance around, free as a wild mare, when I ought to take the bridle and saddle to you, for the good of the concerned masses."

"_Eee_~_kkk_! Isn't that sexual harassment? Ha ha ha ha, just kidding; I'm totally just kidding, _sensei_. Really, really! Please, O' Wise Springfield-sama, believe in this wretched, unworthy woman of A~sa~kura~! _Kusukusu_."

"_Tsk_," The Doctor clucked his tongue, assessing the foe's fortifications for an opening. There was none to be found, but it did not mean he simply could not make one in her walls himself. "There goes my chance. Forgive me, everyone, I tried. I really did try. Honest."

"_Kusukusu_... But, y'know, I'm not really interested in petty cash," Kazumi laughed, as a knight was plucked from underneath her nose, lead into a fatal ambush by mere peasants. "Ah! It won't do. It just won't do at all, isn't that right, Ka-zu-mi? _Kusukusu_."

"Ho? Is this the part where I hear the nature of your proposition? _Hmph_. Do en~tertain me, then, Asakura-kun."

The White Wizard came to the fore.

"So, how about this?" the paparazzi girl baited him, upping the ante by bringing forth the Black Empress. It was a bold challenge of his dominance, he had to admit, but hardly a conundrum he had not been unprepared to overcome.

By far, Negi was far more fascinated by green translucence of the Codd-neck bottle clasped in her fingers. "Wait. Is that lemonade you are sipping on?"

"Huh?" Kazumi blinked, pausing comically in her partaking of a favorite Japanese pastime.

"Allow me to rephrase: is that lemonade or the equivalence thereof?"

"Well, it is ramune," she informed him, and it would suit Negi's needs just fine.

"Gimmie."

"Hweeehhh?" Kazumi's scandalized cry spoke plenty of the flustered red now seizing her cheeks. He could not be serious, could he? This was THE Negi Springfield, right? English gentleman? The genuine article and not some impostor talking to her, right? Well, **of course**, it had to be him!

She must be imagining things because of the Spring fever, or so Kazumi Asakura tried to assure her shattered composure. It was a nice illusion, however hurriedly put together, one that Doctor N. Springfield brazenly smashed into a million pieces, with all the grace of a runaway Mack truck.

"Believe me, Asakura-kun, the romance of an indirect kiss has about the same appeal to me as a sexually transmitted disease. Now, would you be so kind as to lend me that?"

He was serious? No way!

"S, Sure, _sensei_. Help yourself. Ha ha ha ha..."

Ah, her teacher really drank it all. Her ramune that already touched her lips and shared her, well, you-know-what!

"SOUR~!" Negi bellowed boisterously with gusto, after having downed the bottle's remaining carbonated contents in one foul swoop.

...At least, he could have savored the experience some, thought Kazumi with a pout, a lot more entranced by the bizarre event that she cared to admit.

"Well, once again, the quaint wisdom of my mentor proves correct. When you are tired eat something sour."

"B, But you drank..." the paparazzi girl murmured sulkily under her breath.

Alas, it was not quiet enough to escape The Doctor's keen hearing, "Bah, semantics, sch-mantics! Rot them all. I am rejuvenated and that is what matters, yes? YES?"

"Y, Yeah!" Kazumi found herself hurriedly trying to cover up for her unintended mishap. Good grief, what was wrong with her all of a sudden?

"Right," Negi smacked his lips, wholly ignorant of the inappropriate innuendo he was feeding into his poor student. After all, he had only been thirsty and tired, so what did the boy professor have to be concerned over a little gesture like that, no? "So, what did you want to propose to me, again?"

"Well, ahem! Since you decided to shoot for The Prince of Mahora competition, I remembered there was one more little detail we might as well get out of the way now."

"That is?"

"_Fuu_," Kazumi grinned, feeling her sly devil-may-care groove coming back to her once more, in spite of the unexpected bump in the road. Indeed, the event just now must have been a fluke, and she was unnecessarily burdening herself with a freak accident was all. How wasteful! "For your information, Spring~field-_sensei_~, just about every girl in our class is a ditz."

"Congratulations. Did you take a rank in _uncommon _common sense just last night, Asakura?" Negi deadpanned in perfect form.

Suffice to say, it was by superhuman effort that the paparazzi girl found the metal not to perform a pratfall on the spot. Instead, she chose to soothe her ire, with an annoyed double take. "H-Hey, I still haven't gotten to the punchline yet! Settle down would you? You're ruining my form here."

"Ah... My apologies. Please: _proceed_," The Doctor acquiesced, wearing his best smile. The kind he only reserved to toy with people he found most...amusing, as they struggled futilely in his mad schemes within schemes.

"So, as I was saying. Ahem! May-be one in five of those rascals has a boy~friend, so goes according to my research."

"Well, duh, Captain Obviously Oblivious. I was held responsible for the lion's share of Valentines and White Day gifts."

"S-So, if you want a co-presenter to, _kusukusu_, w, walk down the aisle by your side, you could have your pick of any nice girl over twenty!"

"Ah... Asakura Kazumi. Are you losing it? Are you, heaven forbid, _blushing_~?"

Of course, she was blushing, but would it kill him to not make her admit it? Gah. Hold it together, Ka-zu-mi! "M-Me? Blushing? Ha! HA Ha ha ha ha ha! Th, that's a good one, _sensei_. Just where in the world did you get that crazy idea?"

"Ah~, very well then, in that case: I pick you," Negi told her plainly, as he rose up from his desk. "Sounds about proper, since you pushed to sponsor me in the first place for the event. Just try not to trip over your fool self and send us plunging off the runway into the spectators, when the time comes, all right, Asakura-kun? If you need coaching, do not fear because I happen to have friends in unexpected places."

"...Wh, wh, wh-wh...WHAT~!"

"Pip-pip, cheerio!" The Doctor patted his beleaguered patient reassuringly on the shoulder in passing, before making good on his leave. "A pleasure doing business with you as always, Miss Paparazzi; I expect a prompt delivery within two days, or the deal is off. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a meeting to catch. Good day, Asakura Kazumi-san."

"Hwweeeeehhhhh? W, w, Wait~ a second. Hey. Hey~, sen-sei~!" Kazumi called out from the now emptied, running hastily through that newly opened door. Alas, the shocking gravitas of her sticky situation had delayed her several precious moments, and her tormentor was long gone, down the hall and out of sight. Still, it did not mean she could not cry out her woes to the world at large. "Ne-gi-sensei. H~e~y~! ...HEY. Please wait! This is so~ NOT funny at all! Ahhhhh, _mou_~!"

For you it might not be Miss Kazumi Asakura, but for Doctor N. Springfield, it was most the fun he had since the sun rose, and his day had finally begun to rise. Do enjoy the hole you have dug for yourself, miss, however long it should happen to last. In the meantime, The Doctor had bigger fish to fry.

It was high time for him to pay a most _friendly _visit to Konoemon Konoe. **Heh**.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Phew, I finally got the word count situation back under control. There was going to be one more scene, but as you can all guess, we'll get to see that next time on The Situation Room. Dun, dun, dun, dun!

As far as references, well, there is a lot to be had as always. Plenty of fun developments too on the character front, although to be honest, Kazumi came out of left field for me too. Is that going to get anywhere? Well, it beats the hell out of me, knowing The Doctor to be The Doctor, and his questionable sense of priorities. Still, I really do fear for his health when the girls and ladies of Springfield, PhD, finally come a calling to collect on him. Hu hu hu hu!

There's no way he's going to be able to trump everyone he meets with his insane charisma rolls forever, although hot darn is he making a killing right now. Wonder how things will be once the girls level up more?

But don't worry, folks, I am not getting bogged down. There is a definite method to the madness I shall employ to conduct this campaign. Trust me, y'all won't be disappointed, when the shooting war starts. In the meantime, enjoy the rampage while it lasts, as The Doctor goes around campus stirring up one helluva hornet's nest. Though I must say, his blood letting lip service is just plain uncanny, huh?

Ramune, a popular carbonated soft drink native to Japan that is available twenty-six flavors, including the original lemon-lime.

See y'all again at the next gig.

Peace.


	13. Chapter 13

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. Now let's get on the dance floor, and get Boogie fever / Boogie Fever / Tonight!

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 13:

Excitement Tends to Aggravate Injury

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

Although his tenure only began a month and some days ago, officially, it seemed to understood by the Dean's personal staff that when young Professor Negi Springfield should come a-calling for an audience, he was to be permitted entry. The boy professor had been a common sight during his provisional status, so The Doctor being The Doctor, he took his privileged golden status to come and go as he pleased for granted. After all, the squirrely old raccoon never seemed to be bothered to do much of any busy work, happy to pawn off the unenviable task to his legion of willing pencil pushers. Therefore, it was entirely plausible that Konoemon Konoe was an old fool, with way too much free time on his hands.

How else could he afford to spar verbally in a battle of wits with a boy genius, young enough to be his grandson?

Hence, Negi was quite affronted, when the vapidly smiling intern informed him that the Dean was in the middle of a meeting. The fact that Mahora Academy's strange brand of eugenics was treating him once more to eye candy in the form of the said secretary did little soften the bite of his newest injury. If anything, the young woman's blissful ignorance only aggravated his wounded ego worse.

Now, the reasonable thing to do, obviously, was to leave a note with the intern and schedule his own appointment, which could not possibly be sidelined in the future. The fault here hardly lay with the pretty brunette, curly-haired and a touch overly fascinated by her own reflection in the lenses of his A.R. glasses, and normal person would have left it that and gone his merry way. It was only common sense, after all, to arrange for such meetings with important officials in advance, rather than assume they could make time to hear out what ails the ordinary man.

Doctor N. Springfield, alas, only chose to obey the laws of common sense, when the moment suited his purposes. Right now was not one of those times, and as a matter of fact, it better be one bloody important meeting, if Konoemon Kone thought he could get away with unintentionally snubbing the boy genius. Negi was a busy man, by nurture, and a wounded man, by luckless fault. In the time he spent hyped up on pain pills, putting one painful step in front of the other to get here, there were any number of other pending actions he could have been indulging in.

Taking a catnap on the bunk bed, an unexpectedly complimentary feature, in the staff break room to recharge his "batteries", so to speak, would have done wonders for his petulantly wailing back. About the only other activity that measured in importance close to rest would be a trip to the eateries; if it was wise to obey one's thirst, then it was just as natural to obey one's hunger. Sustenance fueled the fallible body, and the wise man would be all the more enlightened, if he did not neglect himself as well.

Hence, it was by Murphy's old hand and Lady Luck's blessing that Negi's stomach decided to burst out in open mutiny at the wrong place, in the right time.

"Oh my~, _tee hee hee_," the secretary giggled lightly, as the boy professor, so sure and in control of himself, fell prey to the ways of Nature.

Negi's poised expression did not waver, although the red blush on his cheeks, surely matched both within and without him. The problem with empty-headed people, he bemoaned privately, was he could never be sure of there intentions, short of subjecting them to "dark" arcane sorcery to extract that very precious truth from their gibbering lips. Thankfully for Miss Takahashi (and why was it that it was always a Takashi or Smith?), her duplicitous simplicity had its own one-track directives, and spared her the visitation of any future misfortune.

"Oh, that's right! It is, like, lunch time, isn't it? Oh dear, oh dear, oh my!"

The Doctor raised a brow at the young woman's sudden panic. Well, if she was not going to call him out on his faux pas, then in the nigh incorrigible way of the Japanese, he would let the matter falter into the shadows. Besides, his palms were itching: yes, that dull, droning electric burn, which was oft an ill omen, but also had another meaning.

Opportunity knocks at the door, _fu fu fu_, so did "That Woman" at the time forebode to him in leisurely tones, free of charge. At any rate, it appeared to be a bout of rare generosity, coming from an eccentric person, who seemed obsessed with the laws of conservation, since Newton played an intrinsic role in Her daily living.

Much like The Master, Negi never did much fancy prophecy, for what was the use of such vagaries that were effectively self-fulfilling, so long as the observer believed in them and drew the necessary correlations? Conversely, **She**, a "good" _witch_ (read: a complication definition), was a huge fan, and made a good portion of her petty spending money on the machinations of the inevitable. Her true expertise lay elsewhere, and it was only by the necessity of Her existence that Ragna The Bloodedge decided not to blow off an official decree from the senior partners that she was not to be harmed.

He badly, desperately, horribly even, wished to tear the witch from limb to limb, as Her acceptance into The Society was still a grave insult on his credibility that he could not live down. In fact, Negi suspected The Master, too, felt betrayed even now by his esteemed colleagues, whom by majority rule (read: the wonder of democracy) had out voted him on the issue. Appealing the sour matter was in impossible, since the decision had already gone all the way to the up and down the entire mountain, so in the end, Ragna The Bloodegde, famed and reviled witch hunter, had to put up and shut up, with having a "live-in" Witch as his unbelievable comrade in arms.

She served as a daily living remainder to him on the age old wisdom that he articulated in his usual scrappy vernacular, "Don't get sloppy in your thinking, kid. When things become routine to you, that's when someone's going to sideline you with a sucker punch to the face. You got a brain for a reason, so exercise it, just like your body. You never know what new truths you might happen to figure out, because to hope is the same thing as breathing. So keep thinking; never give up."

Why, thank you very much, Miss Courageous Girl-child, and you too, Master, sirrah, thought The Doctor with a playful smile. Just because it is naffing bad most of the time, does not equate my palms itching cannot be a sign good things to come, some of the time, huh? _Figures_.

"Oh no~, like, I really should... But I shouldn't...either, " Miss Takahashi mumbled pitifully, reminding him of a whimpering dog. Now, what kind of English gentleman would Negi Springfield be, if he did not propose to lend her his assistance in a convenient moment of crisis, no?

"It would be my pleasure to hold down the fort for your sake, my good woman."

"Uwaahh! Sensei-kun, you surprised me. I didn't...wait. R-Really!" her awed astonishment at his simple proposition was rich, but it also spoke of hidden complexes The Doctor would rather pawn off to some other overly responsible sap. It was not as if he was the slightest bit miffed that she managed to ignore his beneficent existence for any length of time.

Oh heavens no! ...Absolutely not! or so Negi told himself inwardly, with a proud huff. "I educate and deal with the stresses of young adolescent girls on a regular basis, and I am still sane, Takahashi-san. If you find my qualifications wanting, I will be happy to bring up my resume and a golden studded list of glowing letters of recommendation."

"Oh, no no no no no!" she waved her hands in peaceable deference. "Of course not, um, j-just don't let the shift supervisor... A certain Ozu-san catch you, okay? I mean, should've gone and done it already, but I was really stunned, being able to see two sparkling, or that kind of feeling y'know, people show up back to back."

Two sparkling individuals back to back, the English professor corrected the woman, again, in the privacy of his beautiful mind. It seemed to imply Konoemon Kone was meeting

"Ah, but before you go, a moment of your time, please?

"Well... O-okay, sensei."

"If I am not found too solicitous, might I ask, my good woman, whom the honorable headmaster is meeting with?"

"Oohh~," she cooed drolly, her eyes widening with a peculiar child-like innocence that would not have been out on place on kindergartner at a candy store. "Like, he's meeting with one of the students around here. Ah! But it's not like she was in any trouble, I think, so you can relax a little, _Supringufieurudo_-sensei."

Negi bared handsomely with the approximate butchery of his surname, all in the name of his master plan, "Is that so? Anybody you gather that I might happen to know?"

"_Aa_, if I remember right... Sparkling-Person-Number-One. Like. Black-hair. Sharp eyes. Really stiff and formal, kind of. Oh, that's right she was just like a sparkling samurai! What's her name again? Sakura... Erm. It was Sakura-like-something-long."

"Sakurazaki?"

"_Aa_, you said it! Sakurazaki Setsuna-san. She came just a short while before you came around, Sparkling Person Number Two-sensei."

Doctor N. Springfield did not flinch at the harsh truth. He clenched his fists and smiled broadly, in spite of the scathing blow to his winded ego!

Oh... Well... That's nice to know. He definitely was not gratified to hear that, although... Hey. HEY~! This unremarkable airheaded person is also kind of cute~ too, huh? HUh! Air-head appeal, huh~? Bwahahahhahahah! ...Ugh. Please, stop it already. My stomach feels like it has developed a cancerous bleeding ulcer. How can I be Number Two? Huh? NUMBER TWO? LIES. There are all lies! There must be some kind of gross oversight here in the popularity polls. I demand a scientific recount!

Or maybe Miss Takahashi's intentions had been utterly harmless, the boy professor reconsidered, since he could just happened to be the second sparkling person she met... How could he be second place, in any manner of contest that Negi never remembered signing for, but was now a part of by the virtue of his eminence? Ha ha ha ha. Whoever said anything about the MOST sparkling person, huh? Ha ha ha ha. Nobody!

Nevertheless, he was all too grateful to see the bubbly secretary off on her way, happy to accept whatever onigiri (read: traditional Japanese rice balls) she happened to procure. Although the boy professor did profess in parting, he would not be averse to some salted salmon filling in his share of the meal. Alas, with the obstacle that was Miss Takahashi removed, nothing short of locked doors, mechanical or magical, could bar him entrance to Konoemon Konoe's inner sanctum.

The point was not to break in by force, for after all, Negi Springfield was an English gentleman, a man of class. He did not shatter open gates with battering rams. Nay, The Doctor need only to have his foes of the hour invite him in wherefore he could visit the righteous service they so demanded by his own practiced hand. And such was his magnanimity, how could he possibly refuse an earnest request to cleanse delusions of grandeur from the diseased addled mind?

What spectacle that assaulted his senses in wanton fury and feverish fear, suffice to say, did not disappoint. Happening to just waltz in, there Doctor N. Springfield was, caught in a passionate diatribe between the Dean and his intern, Setsuna Sakurazaki. The fervor, with which she spoke did not surprise him, nor did her anxious rambling impress him.

"I don't understand him, Konoe-sama! His actions make sense and nonsense! Why let the scoundrels who did this despicable act roam free? I can understand I wasn't the best choice to retrieve _ojou_-sama, but to willing allow our enemies their day... It's nonsense! I would've seen to it that their worthless hides be brought before your judgment, personally. Please, reconsider, _sama_! I'm more than ready to challenge-"

"Well, here~ **I** am, my young raven," The Doctor caroled gaily, as if bursting from the seams in ribbons and flounces. It was all verily black comedy at its finest, considering he coolly pressed the magical equivalent of a loaded gun, namely his wand, right under the refined curve of her jaw where the critical carotid arteries throbbed, rich in priceless crimson, "And you lose~...**again**."

With one spoken word, the ever valiant Setsuna Sakurazaki would be undone, reduced to no more than a twitching sack of meat in her final death throes, "drowning" on her own blood. The precious Japanese doll cut from it strings would bleed out degradingly on the velvety carpeting, like a common pig on the cutting room floor of an odious slaughter house. Some people preferred to use a hands-on approach, or more conventional arms, but the right spell, applied with the appropriate amount of deadly intent could work as well as any surgeon's artistic hand.

If he had happened to sever the internal carotid artery, poor Sakurazaki would lose blood flow to the brain, and unconsciousness would ensue within eight to ten seconds. Time until loss of reflexes, following the loss of blood supply to the brain? Forty to one-hundred-ten seconds. It would be a painless, but messy descent into the devouring embrace of darkness eternal. A metaphor even The Master favored, with relish, when delivering a fatal finish to his enemies. In fact, one of the apprentice's favorite badass boasts had to be the following:

"Your luck ran out when you met me, ya damned forsaken, scum-sucking bag of ass. I'll teach you to cower, and know fear like the pissing coward you really are, 'cos there _is _**no **Hell waiting on you happily ever after, only _**DARKNESS**_!"

_Sigh_. Negi could really use a good fight, but he had the depressing inkling that his coming contest of dominance, once again, would have to be conducted in the spirit of good taste. It would be awfully ungracious of him to go all out against a third-rate vampire, and her android sidekick, especially as the boy professor began to construct a working understanding of the two caricatures. If there was one thing in desperate need of changing around Mahora Academy, it was credible villains that would force him to flex his mostly righteous indignation, which he swore was atrophying from a lack of suitable targets.

"Hwh... Hwha? S-Since when-!" taken by a surprise, there was not much Setsuna could offer, save for flustered protest in being caught red handed in the act.

The Doctor always had a good hunch or seven about her dissent, but today was the first time he had incriminating, undeniable proof. "Does it matter? '_History is written by the victors_,' said Winston Churchill, and I happen to agree with him, too, that I am easily satisfied with all the spoils it entails. ...The _**results **_of my capricious absurdity speak for themselves, do they not, my _dear _Sakurazaki-kun?"

"K-Kuh! I-I..."

It appeared he would have to have a "good talking to" with the bodyguard girl one of these days, after all. Negi could tolerate spirited debate but not insidious discord within in his own ranks. If Sakurazaki believed firmly she was better suited to take to the fore, and he needed to be given the boot, then the sharp-eyed girl had to do better than her present paltry efforts. Enough pandering to the authority figures; Setsuna should realize she is unsuited towards politics, and play to her strengths...

Well, whatever _they _might be, The Doctor found himself scoffing mentally, as he kept his attention fully focused on the raven-haired girl for the slightest untoward movement. His almost psychotic intensity, zeroing in with the precision of a laser beam, did not waver an inch, even when he addressed the other pair of wicked eyes in the room. "By the way, were you two discussing something behind my back, O honorable Headmaster? Or was this happy, _happy_, HAPPY scene I happened by coincidence...merely an unpleasant figment of my imagination? A delusional daydream, hnnn~?"

"Ho ho ho ho!" the wizened old shadow, ensconced in the seat of his power, played the innocent-until-otherwise-found-guilty card, as per usual. "Springfield-kun, just the enterprising young man I wanted to see today, in fact."

"Why, how quaint, then I ought to think, there is nothing for me to commit my brilliant intellect over," it was good an invitation as any that Negi was included now in the dialogue, and his subordinate's role on the stage was over. Naturally, he pulled the curtains down in the way he knew best to suit the moment, curtly. "**You **are dismissed, Sakurazaki. _Fly_."

Her cutely humiliated expression, twisting and burning red at the gall of it all, elicted an electric and nigh euphoric joy that sent sensual shivers up The Doctor's spine. The combination of the Dean's dispensation of any hand in the scandal and Negi Springfield's blistering repugnance that brooked no argument, Setsuna Sakurazaki was caught in a classical "between a rock and a hard place" scenario. There was no way for her to save face, except to obey in her usual humble deference, a bitter pill the bodyguard forced herself to swallow, all the way out the double doors.

What happened beyond them was anyone's guess, but Doctor N. Springfield like to believe she was having rip-roaring tantrum outside of the warded office. Her reaction, though, confirmed his tiresome dread that he would need to counsel the Bushido-wannabe _otaku_, afterward. Still, the price had been worth the resulting spectacle, in his opinion, even if it did represent a huge setback in their relationship. Negi loved a challenge, and few things matched the intellectual fun of putting back together something he deconstructed, subconsciously, in the first place.

Besides, his back was feeling great, now! He felt like he could fly to the moon and play amongst the stars all in a single bound, while smiling. Oh FEVER, The Doctor was on fire!

"Now, I know for a fact, 'tis daft and damn foolish to be threatening my own employer... But do not presume it is permissible for you to circumvent my chain of command, again, Dean-_dono_. Sakurazaki Setsuna-san is not authorized to speak on my behalf, nor is she authorized to divulge operational details. It is poor OpSec, and worrying you with shoddy analysis is imprudent, when we have not even finished evaluating the data. Sakurazaki-kun is an excellent grunt, but cool-headed rationale is not her specialty, especially in regards to our present principal."

"Ho ho ho, chain of command, you say?" Konoemon chuckled, insulated from harm mostly by the airs of his many laurels, and the veil of shadow. Had he been fully exposed to the dripping venom, Negi's vitriol may have had an unfortunate side effect to his ancient plumbing. "What is this, boyo? Are you playing at being some kind of special-duty commando unit?"

"I prefer to think of us as a diverse intelligence unit that has to get our paws dirty with wetwork."

"Wetwork...is it now? My my my, the surprises never stop with you, do they, Springfield-kun?"

"Analogies aside, as long as we are on the same page, sir, I do not care what ruddy delusions you want to smoke," The Doctor sniffed blithely, his smile bordering on a golden sneer. "You entrusted a bold measure of your grand daughter's safety to me, and I intend to see my obligations through, especially when all is proceeding within acceptable parameters."

The Dean did not rise to the bait. He was much too old to be fighting over trivial hyperbole, and had long since buried the hatchet in that reflex from old glories long past their expiration date. Let the young magister magi nurse his insulted ego, even if it was not awfully smart of Konoemon to provoke Negi Springfield to begin with. Nevertheless, the gamble had been worth the insight he gained: Negi had no love to spare, for those would dare to undermine him. He visited his vengeance swiftly and without fail. Things could have gone very badly for Setsuna, indeed, as she did not understand the boy genius, and had no means of off-balancing him to create an opening for a counterattack.

She would have been killed in an instant. And as frightening a prospect it sounded, the possibility seemed more real than ever to Konoemon Konoe how ruthless the heir apparent to the Earl of Blue Knights could be, if he so felt inclined. It was both saddening and comforting all the same, but the Dean was an old man and had little time for tears before fears. The next matter of interest would be to see if Negi could repair his burned bridges with Konoka's childhood favorite after today's fiasco.

"I anticipated a more organized response," for his part, Doctor N. Springfield took the squirrely old raccoon's oblique silence, as a reasonably optimistic sign that last night's events had not been staged in advanced. He would have been madder than a Mad Hatter otherwise, if he discovered evidence of such sordid misdeed, because it was cliché as hell! "But the evidence so far, has been weighing heavily in favor of a lone maverick, with some resources. The incident may have been utterly unintentional, provided if you could call such laughable third-rate conduct to be a premeditated attack, in the first place."

"A lone maverick, you say?" Konoemon shifted in his high-backed leather chair, with a squeak of the dark material.

"I already have names. Care to hear them? It will all be in my final report, of course, but since you do not seem to mind being spoiled by preliminary analysis of intelligence that has yet to be certified, why not, yes?"

"Ho ho ho ho, you said it yourself. Why not, Springfield-kun?"

"Evangeline A.K. MacDowell and Karakuri Chachamaru."

"PFffffffffffftttttttttttt! WHAT?" Konoemon exploded reflexively, with far more energy than one might have expected coming from his old, weathered frame.

Just like that a switch was flipped in Doctor N. Springfield's head, as the previously mentioned golden sneer came out in full force. The honorable Mister Konoe had just blundered, badly. "Ah, so you do~ know them, do you? Ehehehehe...! IN~teresting... Very~ IN-teresting, _**sir**_."

Oh Gods, the old man could feel the hoary weight of his elderly years crashing straight home to his marrow, like a hammerblow splitting open concrete. It was a wet, ugly noise that made Konoemon instantly regret his slip in composure, an amateur's mistake, which now brought him low from his once lofty position above the melee. Ugh, there must be some way he can still save face but not cause an uproar by misleading the boy professor.

Still, Konoemon could not resist the privilege of complaining, as befits his age, at least in his head, anyhow. Eva, you freaking idiot! What were you (obviously not) thinking going after my cute granddaughter? Didn't I warn you that I assigned the strongest guard dog to visit my school, in just about ever, to take care of her for another year? By the eight million fold gods, why did I ever agree to That Nagi's crazy-

"So, Dean-**dono**," drawled the snickering mad dog, who had at some unknown point crept right up to the front of his desk. The shadows that constantly veiled the venerable head of the Konoe family never felt thinner, chillingly so, until that moment, providing as much protection as a shark cage to the probing curiosity of a great white shark. "Is it too early for me to presume you do have a good explanation for why you are harboring a vampire and a walking marvel of technology that many a government and-or corporation would kill to get their hands on?"

Not good. Not good at all. He was being backed into a corner!

"Hey, hey~, Konoe-sama~! You are not about to tell me, your dutiful contractor, that Mahora Academy is a perfectly, ab-solutely~, positively OR-DIN-ARY school, are you? Are you, **now**? Library Island, was quite en~tertaining, don't ye know? Ehehehehehehehe! I am wondering what other secret se~crets you might be hiding, waiting for some enterprising young chap, perhaps like myself, to uncover them all? Hmmm?"

Calm down, old boy. Calm down! As long as he did not say anything more, the Springfield boy had nothing on him, besides a stinking suspicion... Wait, that would be just as bad, if not worse! Konoemon thought with a mental frown. He had to counter attack, now!

"Why, of course, I would have secrets, Springfield-kun. Any mage worth his or her salt should have a few skeletons in the closet they would rather not speak of, as do you, no doubt?"

Again, a switch was flipped, and right before the headmaster's eyes, he watched Negi Springfield transform from growling mad dog to a contemplative wolf sitting on its haunches, scoping out the prey frolicking down below by the river bank. "Ah, all too true, my wicked sir. _Tsk_. In that case, I will refrain from prying further, on the condition you allow me this concession I am about to name. Deal?"

"I would prefer to hear your ridiculous demand first, before I agree to anything, but considering you have no particular interest in affluence or influence though political marriage, I would hope your ruthlessness has some limits."

The wolf smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth that would done a shark proud. "Allow me to do as I please to discipline my wayward delinquent students."

"T-To do as you please? D, discipline?" Konoemon felt the phlegm in his throat turn dry and core enough to be sandpaper, in an instant. What... What a disaster! He could feel a wall of pressure building over him, emanating from behind those blinding glasses that had caught the sun's light, like a tidal wave about to crash! Danger. Dangerous!

This little rogue was way more merciless than he anticipated originally, but wait, no, Konoemon needed to calm down. Yes, just calm down and think, he still had a bad habit of getting overly excited when things were not going his way, which was why he so painstakingly prepared for every encounter he could fathom in advance. But, damnation, this was all that Eva's fault! Why. Why. WHY?

"Fret not; I have already made a terrible impression on Miss MacDowell, so rest assured that any lawsuits will be settled on my accounts," The Doctor sniffed flippantly. "I am more concerned why Karakuri-san has degenerated to the level of a common delinquent in the first place. I for one think that a mostly rational paradigm, such as hers, should surely see the values of the greater good, rather than indulging in irrational narcissism."

"A... A terrible impression, you say?" Konoemon sweated. Why did he not want to find out, but asked anyway?

"So far, I have successful on two occasions of utterly shattering her so-called vampire's nobility. In my experience, they are filthy parasites, _monsters _for the most part, and need to be reminded all too often of the supple, rich earth, from which they came and shall return to, as is the way of all things that are born, live, and **die**. Very few are able to cling on to their humanity, and realize the terrifying sin they have taken upon themselves, pitifully enough, cursed to wander for all eternity, damned and forsaken, with a thirst that will never be satisfied."

The Head of the Kantou Magic Association, even in the twilight of his years, was still a master disassembler. Time may have ravaged his body, but Alzheimer's disease had not touched a neuron on his brain, and never will, if he had his way! Deriving probable unspoken meanings from a statement that gave away a lot more than the original speaker meant was a skill he honed zealously, but for the life of him, Konoemon found himself stunned speechless by the seemingly bold faced print in front of him.

Negi Springfield might be merciless, but he was always willing to examine matters on a case by case basis, rather than write them all off on stereotypes. At least, it was what he just said presumably, which was uncommonly kind(?) of him? Or was it merely than feigned or not so feigned magnanimity of spirit he liked to parade in front of people?

Konoemon was unsure, and The Doctor took the old raccoon's silence, again, for his cue to continue.

"Thus, I shall take it upon myself to see what, if any of Miss Evangeline A.K. MacDowell can be salvaged, or improved upon. Nobody in their right mind would shelter a vampire willingly, sir, so I will persist in placing my confidence in you. ...But do not ever give me reason to believe you have taken advantage of that trust, Konoe Konoemon-sama; you have not seen the _worst _of me, **yet**."

Never mind he is still a devil wearing a groom's white at a bloodstained wedding massacre, thought the Dean dismally in rapt exasperation. "Oh, do as you like then, Springfield-kun; I see, you need no childish reminders of your duties as a teacher."

"Excellent. I shall have my report delivered to you by the end of the week, along with my final action plan," Negi bowed graciously, although the facetious grin he wore smacked of a wolf licking its chops, in anticipation of the coming hunt. "Good day, Dean-dono, and-"

Konoemon had to feel sorry for the poor former Dark Mistress, but soon found that his sympathies would be needed elsewhere, for once again, the door to his office opened. The individual admitted in was no surprise to him, considering he had called on Takamichi T. Takahata to hear out his perspective on a certain imminently critical matter. …Except there was one not-so-slight oversight present in the wizened sorcerer's inner sanctum, a boy genius who was about to unleash all of his pent up frustration in a single mind-blowing holocaust.

Negi Springfield turned and met Takamichi T. Takahata. Takamichi T. Takahata blinked and met Negi Springfield. It was his last and first mistake, as the intro to Quincy Jones' Ironside played out over the metaphorical airwaves. Police sirens blared to the strumming beat of a cello (WEE, WOO, WEE, WOO~!), the tempo quickening by the accompanying strobing red lights, beating like drums, which lead to a rousing climax of trumpets proclaiming the time of death, right on schedule.

"Heee~ey, Takahata-sensei!" Negi carroled in an unusually chipper tone of voice.

It was the exact sort of tone that anyone with a persisting back problem should not have taken, unless he was high on a potent opiate-based analgesic, which unfortunately for Takahata-sensei, his younger colleague was under no such influence. Oh no, The Doctor was sane, perfectly sane, so blisteringly sane in fact, he could barely hold back his ebullient enthusiasm at seeing a face he had been anticipating since the morning.

"_Aa_, Springfield-sensei. How...unusual," Takamichi picked at his words, reminding Negi of a buzzard unsure of where to being picking apart the carrion, be it the pecker or the arsehole.

"Speaking of unusual, good grief, man! Your tie is all wrong, a-gain."

"Huh? Is it now? I could've sworn-"

"Oh, you big manchild, enough with the excuses," the boy professor shushed the hasty protests of the older man, much to Konoemon's growing awe and heavy dread. "Would you be so kind as to step forward so I can fix it for you?"

"Erm, sure."

"And do bend over some, please; there is no need to demean a growing young man, now, is there, my esteemed senior colleague?"

Oh heavens, don't do it, Takamichi-kun! the elderly man protested mightily in a voiceless whisper. Don't listen to the honey of the bad, bad, very bad little man!

"_Aa_, ah ha ha ha, why, of course not."

But alas, it was all for naught, and the show was about to reach its climax.

"_Fantastique_. And I happen to have a full ten~sion meter, too, so how about I take you for a class in-"

Negi stepped right into the famed Death Glasses's guard, a suicidal prospect for most, but with the element of surprise on his side, victory would be swift and sudden, opening with a brutal shovel hook to the gut. At least, it appeared so to the untrained eye, as poor Takahata-kun doubled over forwards, the wind driven from his body by force. Konoemon Konoe, though, knew better. The rhythmic twist of the boy professor's back and hips, bobbing and weaving, like a pendulum, in a figure eight; he recognized that technique. But it couldn't be, could it? Each crushing hook to Takahata's face was pronounced by a thundering thwack of raw sinew and bone, sweat and spittle flying. Yes, it could not have been, especially in a pugilist, so young!

"_ROLL~ING_! **THUN**-_**DER**_!" The Doctor popped the coup-de-grace, hammering an explosive uppercut into the bespectacled gent's jaw.

The Dempsey Roll! It was the Dempsey Roll, the Dean realized with jaw-dropping awe. What in the World was going on? Had he suddenly been spirited away to some kind of amateur boxing anime? What!

Such was his violence that the bruised and thoroughly thrashed Takamichi T. Takahata, struck easily over a dozen times by repeated hammerblows, fell in much the same way of a venerable Sequoia tree. Launched upwards off his feet, the defiance of gravity was to be short lived, only for him to return to the embrace of Earth in an unceremonious thud that reverberated off the walls of the office. Konoemon could not believe his old eyes, one of the legendary Red Wings, The Thousand Master's Merry Band of Trouble Makers, defeated by a famed boxing technique in the hands of a young man easily half his age.

Hell, the only mercy here it seemed that Takamichi had probably lost consciousness a long time ago somewhere, some when during his abrupt pummeling session. The exhibition was missing one last glorious flourish, however, and Negi would hate to disappoint his fan. He pivoted about gracefully, almost posing in fact, as he tossed a white handkerchief over his shoulder. Folded akin to a rose, it came apart fantastically in mid-air, before drifting down to settle over the beaten face of his unfortunate foe like a veil. After all, no respectable pugilist wished for his fans to see him in his brutalized state of defeat.

"_Ah_, you learned well," the boy professor huffed graciously, making Konoemon sweat. "Maybe there is hope for you yet, good sir, to becoming a proper gentleman!"

If it had been him on the receiving end, instead of a Takamichi, he would have surely gone to meet his friends right about then. More importantly, why in the hell did Negi Springfield just beat the living daylights out of a grown man-IN HIS OFFICE! As the Dean made to protest, however, he soon had another unenviable surprise thrust upon his shoulders.

"Consider us even na-UUUU~WARGH, MY BACK! OH LORD, MY BACK!"

Young Mister Negi Springfield saw it fit at least to join the camaraderie of his colleague on the velvety carpeting with an unholy, blood curling shriek, crumpling like a house of cards. The holocaust was complete. But Konoemon Konoe, now, had the monumental task of plausibly explaining why a pair of respectable "men" were found knocked out on the floor of his office, and had to be carried out by stretchers to the clinic.

Worst yet, he still did not have have a clue what sparked the sudden outbreak of violence. It could not have possibly been his fault, could it? Ho ho ho ho...hah.

* * *

It had been a long day, but a fruitful one. Laying into Takamichi T. Takahata had been unspeakable cathartic release, although the next time they happened to meet, he ought to apologize and offer an explanation for his actions. A simple "You. SUUUUUUCKKK, MAN!" the boy professor doubted would suffice, but taking the time to list his many grievances would be much too troublesome. Oh, he supposed there was no helping it. He would just have to make do with a traditional heart to heart talk, as per the proper decorum of gentlefolk.

Thus, to conclude the day, having spent the remainder of the afternoon bedridden in the clinic from back strain, Doctor N. Springfield felt himself to be ab-solute~ly, positively justified in taking the rest of the evening off. Of course he would not be lax in his duties and would see to analyzing whatever data Charlotte's Web had accrued, while in the hallowed sanctum of his private chambers. There the voluptuous, frolicking Sisters of Purgatory could fawn over him and spoil the boy professor rotten, like royalty, all they wanted, because for a change of pace, he could use some tender loving care tonight.

The pleasurably agreeable process of which would do wonders to make him feel, as if his tireless effort to keep the questionable status quo was appreciated around these thankless parts of the forgotten madhouse, called Mahora Academy. Alas, the best laid plans of young adolescent boys and eccentric wizards, alas, tended not to survive first contact with a bugger-it-all named "Murphy", and his agent of the hour, which so happened to be: Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova. Roiled and not stirred, guaranteed 80-proof spirit, she was touted to be best consumed while chilled; what a shame he more often than not got her in liquid fire form instead.

Oh, and did Negi forget to mention she appeared absolutely refreshing regardless of duress, when she posed arms akimbo on her hips? Why, his favorite Ruskie reminded him then of the spitting image of a displeased wife, ready to henpeck her glib-tongued husband, after a merry boy's night out getting smashed at a promiscuous pub. Ah, woe was he!

How could The Doctor possibly refute her fury, when he happened to enjoy the fairer sex, including her, in traditional German bar maid outfits? Bodices were a great thing, were they not? Weren't they~? Ha ha ha ha...

Oh goodness gracious, this ROTS, Negi decried the unfairness of his hopeless situation, confronted by the greatest obstacle of them all in the foyer of his (and her) apartment. I really, really, really~ DON'T want to play with you now, my sweet, my pet, O'~ My Most Beloved poison pink polka dot chihuahua~! ...even if you really do~ want to play with me~, huh? Ehehehehahahahhahah... Curse you, MUR~PHY~!

"What did you do to the barbarian girl, my _beloved _cousin dear?" Anya hissed at him, her eyes glinting sharply with accusation, no preamble, no peck on the cheek, nothing. It was an awful way to greet him in every sense of the word.

Negi breathed, reaching deep for his better judgment, and smiled, promising that he had not found any drop of it left in the well. "My my, I am astonished you even pay attention to her moods; quite an accomplishment for you there, dearest Cocolova."

"She **is **a necessary asset, and we are criminally short on staff. I do not have to like her. I only require a civil, professional relationship and the possibility of debate. Discord in our working dynamics would be a serious detriment to the effective efficacy of our operation."

"My word, girl, I fear ye been around me too long," The Doctor drawled back in his native tongue, quite gobsmacked by the flawless caricature of his own stylized verbiage. "Imitation is flat-tering and all, but y'er performance jus' now was some-fink bad to the bone. Cahn't ye say it in plain Ruskie, like always?"

The magistra magi flushed red enough to match her hair, which to be fair was a very flattering color, in his not so humble opinion. "You pompous jerk, it doesn't take a pair of glasses to be you!"

"Oh heavens, if that was it, I would be out of job now, wouldn't I?"

"How dare you abandon me to the wolves!"

"Abandon you? Why I never!" Negi feigned hurt, bringing a hand over his equivocal black heart. "Being the person who lives by my side, day in and day out, I had complete confidence you were more than up to the task I entrusted you with, in my absence."

The redder and madder she became, the more he longed to ruffle those long auburn locks. It was fun, and so very interesting to experience Anastasia's helpless, impotent rage. "S, Stupid Onion, d-don't think some sweet words can butter it all up and make light of the awfulness you threw into my lap! ...Those bleating wenches, _rrrgghhh_! I could've, should've burned down that classroom."

"But the class was still standing, when I returned, to which I am eternally grateful for your grace, dearest cousin."

"D, d, d... Stop changing the subject; curse you!"

"Oh, and wot were we talking much nothing about?"

Anya seethed at his apparent obliviousness, which was all a lie, considering the Negi Springfield she knew never lost his way in a conversation. In fact, his memory was deplorably spot on, more times than she cared to count. Also, what was he thinking complimenting her on a rotten job like that? "_Agh_, I said-"

"What did I do to Sakurazaki Setsuna, you speak of?" he pre-empted her in an aggravating matter of fact tone.

"K-K...! Y, you-" the Russian girl wanted badly to wipe that smirk off his hand...n-no, um, facetious face. "You realize I had no choice but to take her off the rotation for the next week or so, thanks to whatever you did to her?"

"No choice? My, you are just full of surprises today, when it concerns your fellows, are you not, Miss Cocolova? And why? Was she feeling **that **awful?"

"That's... Oooh! Never mind. Just tell me why we're going to have to work her share of the burden for the week, you jerk!"

The sound of Anya putting her foot down, with a muffled stomp, was quite possibly one of her most endearing traits. Goodness, was she trying to spoil him rotten or what? It was just so~ cute! The Doctor vouched he could never have enough of such interesting stimuli, provided his freshly strained back could hold out.

"If she is feeling ill, which is the excuse she gave you, I presume, then so be it. I just hope she recovers in time for Operation Midnight Festival."

"Operation Midnight Festival?" the magistra magi repeated him, with an astonished blink, her outrage ebbing for a time. "Wait, what's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything, my dear. Everything. I have obtained permission for us to discipline the flagrant delinquent vampire, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell and her merry associates, and put them in their place. We are going to have us a smashing war in the pocket! Is it not grand?"

"YES!" evidently, Negi was not the only one who had been itching for a fight, judging by the way Anya ecstatically pumped her fists into the air. "...W, wait, I mean, wh, what are you talking about? Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, as in the very same Evangeline from our-your class is our unknown attacker from last night!"

"You feel more surprised than I was, dearest," The Doctor chuckled at his secretary's flabbergasted bewilderment.

"H, how? W-Why? A vampire... In our class."

"Oh, and her immediate associate is Karakuri Chachamaru-san, an android."

"A, a robot girl, too?" Anastasia gawped, her deepening surprise belying more flaws in Charlotte's Web. Although he had to admit, it was a fairly incredulous combination, regardless of whether her brain child observation network could have accounted such facts or not. "...What?"

Then again, maybe she had not looked at the data prior to speaking with him (and ergo, he was assuming the worse rather than facts), a task that still remained relatively urgent on his list of priorities.

"It is a lot to take in, so if you would excuse me, I need to order us some take-out," the boy professor obliged the lady of his house with a nod, before attempting to make himself scarce. "Will the Chinese place be fine, savvy?"

Unfortunately for Doctor N. Springfield, he was not out of the woods just yet; his dear poison pink polka dot chihuahua had one more card to play against him. Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova would be damned if she let him get away today without paying for the misery he owed to her. Those hooligans and harpies in Class 3-A had nearly driven her to her wits end, and she wanted nothing more than for him to feel the same ignominy.

"Not so fast, Stupid Onion!" said Anya, as she pounced, wrapping herself around his embattled middle. It was a disgusting act, and the auburn-haired girl swore her cheeks were heating up out of shame, not because she was infatuated with the English jackass in the slightest bit. Oh Madonna, no!

"Ah... Ehehehe. A, Anya dearest," Negi breathed, carefully. The last thing he needed, after all, was more excitement to aggravate his injury. Pummeling Takahata the Incompetent had been so worth it, but the hours afterward, being effectively at the mercy of any passerby in the infirmary? His quota of helplessness had been quite fulfilled for the month, thank you very much, after just one experience.

"Let us not be hasty now. I am an injured man, and surely-"

"Oh no~, but I must insist, O' high and great of spirit English gentleman. Thanks to your meddling, I've been invited to the public bath tonight at the girls' dormitory by your spoiled girls!"

The Doctor gave pause. Did he just hear what he thought he heard, or was it him hearing what he imagined, minus the Sisters of Purgatory? And was it bad thing, or a good thing that his palms were itching?

"...Excuse me?"

Anya smirked, reminding him of a blushing great white shark on its final approach: ramming speed.

"It's been dangerous around here lately, hmmm? What, with horrible sexual predators, those so-called _vampires _on the prowl at night. Oh heavens, preserve us! ...So, guess what you're going to do, Negi Springfield?"

"Well, that is debatea-"

"You're going to accompany me tonight. End of story. Negotiations are over."

Negotiations? Goodness, her pitch just now could not have been anything else **but **a one-sided extortion scam, complete with the threat of bodily harm. If this attempt was Little Big Red's idea of negotiation, Negi was fascinated positively by her prospect at interrogation! Ha ha ha ha. Besides, wot horrors could possibly await him at the public bath in the girls' dormitory where 3-A resided, eh?

...

Wait a moment here, did Doctor N. Springfield just think through that stream of consciousness, correctly? May~be, he ought to try that enigmatic thought again.

...

THE GIRLS' PUBLIC BATH, WOT!

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Well, I made it just in time for 4th of July weekend. I was hoping to cover more ground, but one scene grew way past my expectations, obviously. Worry not, my friends, the cliffhanger-fu is strong in me. Dohohoho!

References and nods abound as always, although on the character front, we have some decidedly explosive developments. Can The Doctor patch things up with IamGundam!Setsuna? Will Death Glass Takahata come back to return the favor _iaiken_ style and show him how gentlemen **really** fight? How much longer will The Doctor's sucker punch streak continue? He's definitely on his way to a hat trick, but can he go all the way? And what delicious development awaits around the corner at the girls' dormitory?

All of this and more, we'll have to wait and see until my next gig. Thank you always for your time, readers, critics, and fans. I suffered a slight glitch on 6/28/10, courtesy of , so my account lost all stat tracking for the day. I don't know if this affected reviews too, but if it did, hey, everyone knows my policy on R&R. Last time I checked, freedom of speech was still covered by The Constitution, so make yourselves heard.

Be safe and enjoy the holiday weekend.

Peace.


	14. Chapter 14

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. WARNING: there is some content ahead that might trigger an unexpected diabetic shock. You have been warned.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 14:

Doctor N. and The Karma of Consecutively Bad Events

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

Karma could be such a cruel slave driver. Doctor N. Springfield admitted he had been a very naughty boy today, well, more like as of late, but The Doctor would not be The Doctor, if he could not bloody well operate on his patient could he? Negi thought it most unreasonable that he be punished for his sloth, when there was no opportunity to step forward with his better foot, nor was he willing to risk the death of his muse by exploring all avenues. The condition of hope, a precariously frail creature on better days, was of vital importance to his continued well-being, lest he perish from insufferable boredom

At the moment, however, Negi Springfield wagered he would die first from his back giving out. He could readily imagine the unfortunate messy accident wherefore the elegant bones of his debonair nose would be driven by table (or floor) straight into his brain. Maybe, The Doctor ought to do his out of control orderlies, who had somehow become the patients (or was it the other way around?), a favor by arranging for the accident himself. It would take a lot of work, people to notify, the correct procedure for disposing of the body in triplicate format, flowers, picking a day, so much work as to make positively nauseated and scrub the idea (whatever).

"Ah~... Nobody knows~ the trouble I saw~ / Nobody knows~ my sor~row~!" Negi hung his head low, as he listlessly graded papers at his temporary desk.

The spare staff room across the hall, where an enterprising hall monitor could hunker down for a stake out, was well-to-do enough by Mahora Academy standards (read: luxurious compared to everywhere else), with all the comforts one could ask for short of a TV. Then again, in the media saturation of the Internet age, Wi-Fi and-or some other connectivity alternative made television more and more a throwback to the 20th century. Hence, The Doctor found himself slaving away on a humming laptop, while CNN International droned on in a tiny background window, compared to his predecessor who would have done the same over a typewriter and the tele.

Alas, there was still nothing to be done about the egregious paper trail that followed intellectuals, bureaucrats, and accountants everywhere they went, but some innovative entrepreneur will come up something as long as the perpetual engine continued to tick. And tick it did, the analog wall clock, a simple round-faced construct with a red framed, reminded him every second of his misery, like the Headsman's toll. In reality, it might have only been five minutes since he changed peaceably into a pair of swim shorts, which Negi did not even realize he owned, until the idea got proposed to him.

Bottom-line, a not so friendly suggestion from Kommissar Anya hinted preciously that he ought to prepare himself...just-in-case, and the boy professor knew better than to interpret such omens as a mere warning. Oh no, her words and the persisting electric itch in his palms proved to be the final confirmation that the situation had already gone to DEFCON 1. Why the staid twenty minute walk over to the girls' dormitory where a full welcoming reception, composed of a starry-eyed class representative Ayaka Yukihiro and a handful of others, spoke of a full-blown conspiracy!

Something had happened, and Doctor N. Springfield did not have a clue as to who, what, when, where, how, or why, such a dastardly turn of events would come to bite him in the arse now. He suspected strongly that his secretary knew a lot more than she let on, and may have had her dirty fingers in more place that should not be named in good company than good people should fathom to wager. Ethics be damned; Negi wanted to know. He wanted to know, badly.

He did not like being blind-sided, especially when the level of play appeared to be well within his influence and might. Had The Doctor known of the plot, he could have headed off the beast and switch the detonator, long before the perpetrators had to wonder why their fabulous fireworks show had just ejaculated prematurely, in their own holes. Dohohohohoho!

Alas, it was not meant to be, and Mammon of Greed was enjoying every last morsel of his stewing consternation, lapping up the heat waves of anxiety, like a thirsty alcoholic to beer.

"Oh~! A troubled Lord Springfield is fine~ too~!" cooed the voluptuous Stake of Purgatory, caressing her beatific person sensually in, no doubt, sadomasochistic euphoria. Indeed, so perfect was she, the enlightening experience on wanton display could be downright frightening for the average laymen. "Mammon can't get enough. Mmm~, this shameful Monmon! More dread. More fear. More suspicion. More vengeance. More! More, Master~!"

The novelty of which had not worn off on Doctor N. Springfield, a mercy he was grateful for, but did little to detract from his imminent doom. Even the soothing attentions of oh-so-soft "pillows" squirming against the nape of his neck, with every shiver and breathe from Leviathan of Envy, did little to take the bite off his gloom.

"You filthy, lewd girl, enough spouting such worthless, dirtying words already! Don't you care that our lord is about to be dragged off and ravaged by those rapacious harpies? Why, just thinking about it...eeeeeeeeee! Nevernevernevernevernever...ABSOLUTELY! Never~! I, Leviathan of Envy, would sooner perish than hand our lord and master over to them!"

Unfortunately for the green-eyed homunculi, her younger sister being a wretched creature cut from the same cloth, cruel and beautiful, Mammon gleefully created a misunderstanding out of a clearly spoken outcry.

"Than bite off your tongue and die~ already, **useless **Levia-nee, hehehehe-KY~AH~hahahahahahaha!"

With a pop of displaced air rushing in to fill the vacuum left behind, mostly Leviathan shoulder tackling the impertinent brunette straight through the walls, the Stakes of Purgatory went on their merry way to settle another blood feud. He had little doubts the screaming contest would soon devolve into a too hot for television event, complete with hair pulling, pinching of unmentionables, slapping, and general dirty cat fighting. How The Doctor wished sometimes to be a being who could shift between corporeal and incorporeal forms at will, and could regenerate everything from blood to articles of clothing, easy as breathing. It would be an awfully convenient, carefree life style, he imagined.

But it would also be incorrigibly boring, which was part of the reason why the Sisters of Purgatory fought all the time. Boredom was the soul killer, and in handicapped situations like his present predicament, they were quite powerless to assist, unless otherwise permitted, so Negi could forgive their callowness. The boy professor was up against his students, and it would be in bad taste if he used every available tool at his disposal. Besides, he would rather not advertise of his expertise in the Dark Arts just yet.

Having pacts with dark elementals was one thing, but the ability to summon the malevolent agents of _Inferno _was a different matter altogether. The young magister magi did not require "Demon Worshipping Pratfall King" added to the list of his growing infamy. After all, the whole point of his exercise here in Mahora Academy was to build up his "street cred", as The Master so succinctly phrased to him. Never mind Negi could use the fabled gates of damnation (read: abandon all hope, ye who enter here) right about then, rather than the sorry excuse for a door, all that stood between him and the inevitable embarrassment.

And to think tonight, I would have been... thought The Doctor, before he was rudely interrupted by bad omens, his itching palms burning in a sudden climax that he made him bolt up from his seat.

"Fuwhaa! He's here-_aru_. _Honored Teacher _Springfield really came!" came the familiar lisp of Kuu Fei, along with the courteous addendum to his name in her native Mandarin. Oh, and he must not forget the racy white two-piece she wore, too, that made him fear the worst for what the media was doing to today's youth, while laying to rest the final nail in the coffin.

Yes, it was a conspiracy. Now, if only the perpetrators would line themselves up in good order already, so The Doctor could burn them all to the ground with a plasma induction torch. Why plasma one might care to ask? His answer: napalm was too cheap, and promethium too messy, plus he wanted the carbon scoring (read: scorch marks) to serve as a permanent reminder to the next bunch of conniving ruffians. After all, there was always more where their ilk came from, and Vlad the Impaler was not a totally bloody krazy basterd, with a kapital "K", some of the time.

Psychological warfare does have its merits against people with an iota of self-preservation, which the Turks took a rank in spades, after the literary inspiration for Bram Stoker's Dracula paraded their dead and anyone else he did not like on the ends of grossly phallic wooden pickets. Deep down to their quivering bowels, they understood that being made to have something big and huge slide up somewhere it had no business entering was a mortifyingly grisly way to go meet one's maker. The fact, it was achieved ingeniously only by the shear force of gravity, likely, made a few reconsider the queerer legalities of not-so-surprising sodomy and recreational copulation, but that's a thought for another time.

"Kyah, kyah, kyah~! It is, it is him!" gushed Sakurako Shiina, appearing in the doorway hereafter. What a novel statement there, Miss Mistress of the Obvious, but where one member of the Cheerleading Trio went, the rest of her compatriots were never far behind.

"Eeeee~! Isn't it great?" agreed Cheerleader B, whom he was being jerk towards on purpose by not naming her.

"C'mon, let's get him over the bath. We don't want to keep every~one waiting now, do we?" suggested the husky-voiced, Cheerleader C, with a rueful wink.

Suffice to say, none of them were dressed any better than Kuu Fei, much to The Doctor's rising ire. Verily, he should have launched into a passionate outcry on observing proper decorum, but there was a slight hitch in the plan, namely... His back.

Owowowowowowowowo-Oh GOD, my back! thought Negi in overriding agony, like cool, frigid ice water dripping down his spine that numbed and burned all at once. Why, why, why, why must it be...? My bloody back~, a-gain!

He was rooted to the spot, unable to move, much less lift a reprimanding finger, but his pride as an English gentleman refused any outward display of weakness! Alas, his second nature reaction to exquisite pain in the face of the foeman was to freeze his expression in the rictus of an enigmatic smile, whose meaning held a thousand different hooks. Unfortunately for him, the girls took it as a wordless blessing on his part that it was permissible to accost him on their merry way.

"Kyah~! Let's go, let's go! Take him away, girls!" Sakurako cheered, blissfully ignorant of how wrong her statement sounded otherwise.

"Oh!" came the resounding cry of agreement from the impromptu gang.

Doctor N. Springfield very much wished to voice his disapproval, except he was rather preoccupied by the emergent flavors of impeding suffering.

Huh? I cannah move, but the girls can move me? Hng! Hng, hngh, hngh, hngh~! Nghhh! It's no use! Huh? H, Hey, this c-c-c-ouldn't be THAT, could it? thought the magister magi in ever deepening dread, as his giggling students herded him towards the girls bath hall, arm in arm from all sides. Kanashibari, ergo "Sleep Paralysis", b-but that's makes no sense. I, I dunnah remember pissin' off no foul spirits as of late. So, um, it cannah be kanashibari? Can it? H, Heh. Heh!

Yes, Negi must just be imagining things. After all, his back was in a lot of pain, and... Eh? B, But, what if it is some foul spirit? N, N, n, N-No way, I'd remember doin' something important like making a ghost's very, very bad day. He, heh, hehehehe! Yeah, I'd remember. A, an, and I'm not scared in the sl-slightest; e, even like this, I'm the bloody protagonist in my life story! Heh, heh, h, hehehe!

Indeed, what was there for an accomplished English gentleman like Negi Springfield to fear? E-E-E-Even as a mere apprentice, he had accomplished numerous feats of heroism. Like, erm, "V" for victory! Heh, he, heee, hehehe. There was no way Negi was frightened of just how powerless he was at the moment. Eh heh, ha, hahahahahah!

Oi~! Nevertheless, The Doctor realized in a deepening pallor of sweat that he should be worried because his vocal cords were not responding either. It was as if he was prisoner in his body. I swear, I'm-ma speaking but no voice is-a comin' out! Oi~! Oooiiii~! Hah. Hwueghhh...!

Wait, was he choking? Wh, why it is rather hard breathe at the moment, is it not? Heh, hah, hahaha. It was not as if he the slightest bit interest in the adolescent wenches escorting him to his doom. Ha. Ha! Hahahahha! B-But, what if his helpless condition really is the doing of a foul spirit? Heh. Heheheheh...

Ah, what a pain, Negi supposed he had no choice but to enact his Plan B: grovel.

OOooooiiiii~! Hey-hey~! Is someone there? Mister, Miss, or Missus Spirit, are you there? Um, it's startin' t'get real~ dark. Darker than Black! I think, I'm swooning from lack of oxygen, so if you can understand me, p-p-please, unbind me! I entreat thee, earnestly! Rea~lly! I'm truly sorry for not remembering how I earned your ire, b-but please, release me! Please? P-Pretty please? With tea and honeyed scones on top? Huh? huh? ...Some-BODY, PLEASE, SAVE ME~! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee~!

Oh, Doctor N. Springfield admitted it was maddeningly pathetic, but well-timed comic relief had saved his and The Master's collective hides more than once. In fact, their dynamic duo routines could turn the tides of battle even, as they found out, costing their enemies dearly for a moment's side-splitting guffaw. Was it dastardly? Ab-SO-lutely. Did he relish the spectacular results every time, anyways? Oh yes! Verily yes!

So when the proverbial lights and cameras came back on, from his brief case of the thousand yard stare, Negi was quite put out that his tormentors still had the last laugh. The girls' bath hall was every bit as flowery he expected (read: smelled the part too), with faux palm trees and painted vistas, but its shear scale and luxury seemed more fitting in a well-to-do health spa. Ostentatiously, it went to show, once more, the prestige of Mahora Academy that they could spare their considerable affluence to even spice up a communal bathing area.

The intended residents of such a space were preoccupied deep in rambunctious conversation about some matter that implicated him, but had not seen it fit to include his input for whatever reasons. Thankfully, they were all reasonably clothed in their unreasonable degrees of what amount to swim wear, although in The Doctor's opinion, an unacceptable number of his patients treading the line of indecent exposure in public. A thong does not qualify as civilized clothing in the greater majority of the illuminated world, which he could be certain of, and would be happy to reiterate until nausea set in.

Bloody hell, it certainly was not appropriate attire to greet one's teacher in, so could somewhere here kindly clue him in on what was going on? Or would he have to do things the hard way?

"_Mou_, Class Rep, you're trying to hog all the good parts again!" somebody giggled aloud teasingly, from the gaggle across the way. "Guess we all know who's most determined to be by Springfield-sensei's side for the Culture Fest, huh~?"

"I, I'm doing no such thing!" came Ayaka's flustered, and wholly unconvincing retort. "A-A-As the organizer of the event, I think I'm well within my rights to make the official-"

Negi smelled an opportunity, and why bother standing for a matter that was way out of his hands, when his shivering, aching back longed for the pool? "Why, yes, thank ye very much, but while ye girlfolk debate that touchy matter, may I go soak meself in ye flowery, hot jacuzzi pool yonder? ...If that's not too much to ask?"

His sudden counterattack, using his more earthly tongue, got him a good word in edgewise, judging by the string of gasps that followed from the motley assembly of 3-A's rascals, more of which were filing in by the minute. Few of the girls hesitated upon noticing the source of the brouhaha, namely himself, and if anything, were more embolden to succeed in whatever task that was about to occur. The fact he, the star attraction, could be relegated to background noise while the top conspirators sorted themselves out, showed how serious the not-so-merry-for-him occasion was to the girls.

Naturally, this meant escape would be easier said than done for the debonair Doctor N. Springfield, and Kommissar Anya of sour tempers thought it fine to make his life worse.

"I was wondering when you'd speak up, _O_-_Nii_-san."

Words were not necessary to describe the dripping darkly venom in her voice that came from his left. Negi could feel his complexion drying out already, in spite of the pleasant humidity from the effervescent hot baths. But, more importantly, what in the bloody hell had **Her **knickers in a twist? Had she not been on the fun since the beginning? Or was she, _gasp_, displeased he was not putting up more of a fight?

Well, the boy professor would hate to disappoint his good secretary, so he turned his attention towards her, only to have his words die stillborn in his throat.

"...Whuffghh?" Negi choked, wide-eyed in shock.

Sure, there was nothing to see, unless one happened to be a lolicon (read: pedophile), but he never dreamed he would be, erm, unlucky enough to witness the precocious Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova, in a swimsuit. Thankfully, she had better sense to wear a modest one-piece, topped with a tasteful windbreaker. All the Ruskie needed now was a megaphone and a pair of sunglasses to complete her image, as the pint-sized director behind the entire madhouse production.

Oh, right, he ought to stop gawking, and get on with the dog and pony show.

"Ahem!" Negi licked his lips, and then flashed her, his best wry smile, as if he knew all along of her deceit. "Says the person who helped mastermind the plot; now, would you care to explain what the devil has possessed you all this time?"

"We're holding the first Class Three-A Beauty Contest," chirped Misa Kakizaki, Student No.7, enthusiastically from the excitable crowd, "to see who will be your presenting partner for The Prince of Mahora, _sensei_!"

Of course, he trusted one of the Cheerleading Trio to be able whip her audience back into a frenzy of giggling and cheers on short notice, such was their specialty. Still, it did not make The Doctor any less miffed, much to his private chagrin, that the Japanese girls were hard of hearing the irony in his glib tongue. Ah, how frustrating, but he must not dwell too long, especially when the nature of his pitfall had just been revealed.

"...I beg your pardon?"

It could not hurt to hear it again, could it? Maybe, he heard it wrong the first time, yes? The girls were happy to clear away any miscommunication he may have perceived in literal tidal wave of information.

"Yeah, yeah! Kazumi-chan brought the newest issue of the Mahora News with her to class today."

"Like, oh my gosh, I was so shocked!"

"We totally didn't expect you to be in the running, _sensei_!"

"Kyah~! I wanna be on stage with, Springfield-sensei."

"I'd be so~ perfect!"

"Oo! Pick me. Pick me, _sensei_!"

Okay, he found one of his missing shoes, but where was the other part of the mess?

"Ahem!" Ayaka cleared her throat, temporarily boosting herself ahead of the pack, "Which was when Asakura-san lamented to us that you didn't have a partner yet!"

And then the wave crashed in a loud climax of girlish squeals and giggling, such that even Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova had to roll her eyes in long-suffering exasperation. What on Earth ever convinced her that going along to earn her fair measure of retribution, with this fool-headed plot would be worth...

"Erm, come again?" the Earl-to-be smiled...innocently(?).

On second thought, maybe it was not such a big waste of time. His flock of sheep might not have noticed, but Anya could tell per her experience of being a constant in his daily living: Negi Springfield just swallowed a lemon, and he hated it. If only she were not in front of her classmate, the redhead swore she would have broken out into song and dance. HA! Take that bourgeoisie!

The ensuing maelstrom of The Doctor's internal fury went something to this effect:

THAT CONNIVING CAT-PAPARRAZZI WENCH! I thought we had an agreement? Hell, it was why I chose you right from the get go, you knackered trollop, so we could avoid a spectacle. Like this! THIS is exactly what I was-HO GOD! My back. Ho GAWD, my back!

Elsewhere, the soon-to-be unfortunate Kazumi Asakura shivered, like something furry and adorable had just rolled over and died in an 8,000 kilo African Bush Elephant's butt crack. The effects of which is multiplied another thousandfold, after the said elephant performed the last rites via "The Mother of All Buttflops"; truly, an unpleasant omen, Oh, and look, whoever talked bad about Kazumi also made her press a key by accident on her typewriter! Noooo~! Now, she would have to retype her report all over again. Why~? _Uuuu_, such misfortune!

Had he known the subject of his imminent revenge was not faring so well herself by no more than the karmic outcry of his fury, Negi might have felt better, but his troubles were just beginning.

"Although I'm sure it's a fact that does not bear repeating," Ayaka Yukihiro trumpeted herself up with the terminus of the opening ceremonies, meaning it was time for trash talking. "With my beauty and intelligence, not to mention good upbringing as a proper young woman in society, it is clear that I'm eminently qualified to walk by your, Springfield-sensei!"

Well, if it is a fact that does not need to be told again, thought The Doctor as he felt a proverbial sweat drop sliding down the back of his head, why did you do it anyway, you foppish trollop?

The indignant outcry from the rest of 3-A's passionate contestants was predictable, too.

"WHAT THE!"

"Kya~n! A surprise attack already?"

"No fair!"

But there were some who had been anticipating such a dastardly maneuver since the beginning, and now that the blue blood had given away her hand, Haruna Saotome (No. 14) could not help but start her counter-battery fire.

"Ho ho, pretty sneaky there, Class Rep, but doesn't it just bring doubts on how _pure _your motives _**really**_~ are? Heh heeh~?"

The blonde-haired heiress of the Yukihiro zaibatsu gave a start, as 155-millimeter, high-explosive dual-purpose canister shells, came screaming in from the sky. Mercilessly, they shattered the positions of her emplaced field guns behind Hill-47 in unabashed flaming "Shock and Awe", but before Ayaka could even think to make an order, there was another salvo already in the air, leaving tell-tale burning streaks in the night. Rockets, but from who?

"Being womanly-like sure is tough-_aru_," Kuu Fei bemoaned briefly, much to the surprise of all, including The Doctor, before her troubled expression split into a beaming grin. "Kuu Fei could learn a soft three or thing from honored Yuki-san, but, y'know, Kuu Fei thinks that a good woman can do more than hide behind her man too. Shoves come to push, Kuu Fei will carry Springfield-_laoshi _on her shoulders-_aru_!"

Negi's palms...**itched**. He did not need to be told twice that if Kuu Fei of all his pupils was getting serious about a beauty pageant, then his brilliant intellect and suave grace must be brought to the fore to defuse the situation, post-haste! Unfortunately for the boy genius, his secretary had other plans.

"Oh dear me," Anya sighed, exhaling deeply as if she had taking a sultry drag from an elegant Victorian-style smoking pipe, gilded in gold and fit for a lady, "to use a local expression around these parts, '_Yare_, _yare_; _how troublesome_.'"

Just like that she stole the limelight away from the would-be quarreling hecklers onto herself, taking center stage, with the crowd hanging on to the edge of their seats, for her next words.

"With that level of conviction only, all of you girls still have a long ways to go before you can even hope to walk in _Onii_-chan's shadow."

The brouhaha came right on schedule, plowing straight through the stage, but his favorite poison pink polka dot chihuahua was already long gone, riding the wires up to the VIP booths, like some mysterious caped crusader.

"Hueehhh!"

"No way!"

"You're kidding!"

But as mad as they were, not all reason had escaped from the girls, and Ayaka Yukihiro very much wished to regain her lost initiative.

"Wh, what do you mean, Coco-san?"

Alas, she stumbled a little bit in her haste, earning a cool, level stare from Kommissar Anya that cut deeper than any lash. Chastened, the older girl squealed and made to apologize, as hurriedly as she began her brazen venture, but the Ruskie was a fair though ascetic mistress. If the masses wanted the truth, then who was she to deny them how harsh reality could be? Dohohohoho!

"_Fuu_~... It's not Coco-san; it's **Cocolova**-_**sama **_to you, amateur! Now, watch and learn how a pro does things. Behold: the strength of my resolve!"

Doctor N. Springfield swore she must have used sorcery, for without a doubt he had the edge over Anya in height by a healthy margin. Nevertheless, in a single leaping bound, not unlike a twirling ballerina, his secretary appropriated his glasses without a fuss. He could not help but be grateful for the built-in biometric verifiers that immediately shut off all functions, turning the A.R. glasses into nothing more than an ordinary pair of prescription lenses, which with a final flourish, looked quite adorable on the petite magistra magi.

"To be with Negi-nii, you've got to do it like this," Anya drawled suavely, even imitating his characteristic quirk of pushing up his glasses by the bridge, before adding her own bombastic one-liner in English. "_You. See_?"

He had to agree with the crowd, mostly.

"Fuwhaaa! A-mazing!"

"So cool!"

"Kya, kya, kya~!"

It was a nice trick, though to be one the conservative side Negi would award her 88-points. Fundamentally, she had only forestalled the problem, not extinguished it at its roots. Ugh. What he would give for an opportunity right about...

"Hey, what's all this ruckus about-dwegh!" an evidently surprised Asuna Kagurazaka decided to crash the party, in a perfectly sensible t-shirt and shorts, and for the life of him, the boy professor could never be more thankful to her. "Wh-what is THAT GUY doing here?"

She was just the distraction he needed so desperately, and it gets better.

"Hnn, what's..." Chisame Hasegawa also chose the same moment to appear, wearing only a towel and her idiosyncratic glasses.

Standing side by side with 3-A's resident "Freedom Fighter", the two of them possessed, truly, an uncanny resembled to one another. If it were not for Kagurazaka's heterochromia, they could have passed for sisters, effortlessly, but Negi was digressing. Namely, a familiar electric itch that had just barely subsided some moment's ago at Anya's intervention, now returned with a burning vengeance, the source of which he could only pinpoint towards the possible net idol in disguise.

But how much worse could this delightful honey trap situation get? Suffice to say, Doctor N. Springfield should not have tempted his ol' chap of a friend, Murphy's Law. Whenever he showed his ugly five o' clock shadow, the one in a million chance for disasters ceased to be the oddball. They became reality.

"EHHHHH?" Chisame shrieked as she suffered an abrupt, unwanted, and uncalled for wardrobe malfunction, exposing to the world at large, too hot for the tele, full frontal nudity of the personal kind.

Had it stopped there, The Doctor felt he could have managed to salvage some of his dignity, which had just incurred a mortal wound by aneurism. Woe be to him, however, because Murphy was not close to satisfied yet. More cries ensued after the first, as strings, straps, thong songs followed suit, snapping, breaking, loosening, after the irately flustered Miss Hasegawa's example, not even Kagurazaka's shorts were spared.

Naturally, pandemonium erupted, and through all the shrill noise and flighty sashaying, Negi turned redder and redder, until he could flush no more. What an embarrassment! How could he be caught dead in such a place at a time like this? Was this part of Asakura's plan, too, go around sabotaging all the girls' swimsuits in advance?

Ha! Now, the magister magi was just being paranoid, and he knew it because Negi could almost perceive the true culprit. By his reckoning, it was a small, shadowy blur, swift and nimble that glittered, as the things systematically stripped his class one by one of their modesty. Too miniscule to be a human, obviously, but if he concentrated hard enough...

Is that a bloody ermine with tribal tattoos and a mohawk? pondered The Doctor with an incredulous frown. Oh, and it wears bling, too, like some-

"Kyaa~! A mouse! A mouse is in here!" somebody cried out shrilly, adding more fuel to the burning bedlam.

Negi would have corrected her, but since the instinctive feminine impulse in such a hysterical scenario involving mice, men, and nudity happened to trigger classical the fight or flight reflex, his intervention proved unnecessary. Thrown Buckets and bars of soap provided covering fire for the less inclined to fight, who were vacating the scene in a hurry, with what scraps of dignity they had left. Unfortunately for the boy professor, he had no such luxury given to him, since Negi found himself in the most disadvantageous of positions: caught right in the middle of the free fire zone.

It did not take long for Missus Pink Bucket to visit a cool plastic kiss to his face. Normally, such an insult would be an insignificant blow for The Doctor, thanks to his extensive training and experience that taught him to ride the momentum of physical strikes, not fight them. Being flexible and loose, similar to a spring, made the difference time and time again against what would have otherwise been a knockout fist to his face.

But today was not to be one of his triumphs, thanks to a torturingly strained back, Negi took the hit stiff as a rock, triggering a catastrophic whiplash of crossing aches and pains that only spelled his doom. He swooned, vertigo switching his ups and downs as all the blood seemed to drain from his head into vivid blackness. In fact, gravity was all too happy to offer the same complimentary service it did for Takamichi T. Takahata to him, as he stumbled backwards, careening out of control. His arms flailed wildly like he was Neo in a hilarious slow-mo fall that was supposed to be conducive to dodging bullets.

Ha! What a bunch of rot.

Doctor N. Springfield felt, quite frankly, it would be more productive, and courteous by far... if someone could please catch... or otherwise, mitigate his fall, as having his skull... Cracked open upon the ceramic tiles would be very... _Ugh_.

* * *

Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova did not deem it fit to provide him with a straight answer of what transpired in the girls' bath hall hereafter of him losing consciousness. Although judging by the gossip he heard from the rest of Class 3-A, she had been personally instrumental in resolving the crisis, catching the slippery dastard of a weasel with her bare hands. Thus, his secretary was elevated to new heights of stardom, to which she already had a fair start, being associated to him as his cousin, after all.

Of course, it did not hurt that all the competent help had been preoccupied in saving him. Why, it as the only detail she had parted with, grudgingly at that too, after he harangued and toyed all the way to school in the morning. A team effort, according to her account, Sakurazaki Setsuna, of all people, came out of nowhere, like a bat out of hell, to establish the first link in the chain gang. Chain links being weak on their own, then Kuu Fei had to step in to throw her weight around, followed by an unassuming bemused Kaede Nagase (No. 20), and a even stranger character, still, Mana Tatsumiya (No. 18) threw her lot into the luckless pot.

Alas, the valiant efforts of the four idiot heroines was for naught, and they all ended up in the pool anyways, having grossly underestimated the physics involved with the rescue attempt. What happened thereafter, Anya refused to comment on, and explicitly forbade any additional overtures as to why exactly did he wake up on the bed in HER bedroom. By all stretches of common sense, should he not have been the mage camped out on the couch, and not the prince in a girlish bed?

Negi was so intrigued by the whole ordeal that appeared to end well, despite beginning horribly, Kazumi Asakura's punishment got put on the backburner. The mystery demanded his attention, and he would be remiss to ignore it. Already the boy professor had suffered once, with his short-sightedness, and he was eager to renew his alert vigilance, for his time here at Mahora Academy had clearly made him soft.

Well, so was his initial intent, but upon settling in the classroom, and a feeling a little better than the day prior, the reality of his imminent and dangerous mission set in once more. Again, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell had defied him, clearly having not learned her lesson the first time. It vexed him, rather excruciatingly, but The Doctor knew better than to repeat his vigilante justice so soon, considering he was all penniless of good will, in regards Kommissar Anya.

If he abandoned his post this time, judging by the baleful glowering look she shot his way, which evoked howling winds and thunderclouds, the red-headed girl would shoot him in the back, no questions asked. Good grief! Negi could only lament. What a stiff, even as the rascals of 3-A's teased her, if she would take charge again, today, since Miss MacDowell was still playing at truancy.

Nevertheless, though he was not without an ulterior motive entirely, the boy professor decided to conduct business as usual, and put off his hunt for another day. With any luck, some normalcy would soothe his dear Anastasia's sour mood, loosen her lips, and before anyone was the wiser, Negi would have that ratty-haired street urchin, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, delivered on a silver platter before the entire class. _Kukukukukuku_! Oh, how he was going to enjoy trussing that mongrel amateur of a vampire up like some savory hog at a banquet!

Thus, Doctor N. Springfield strived to bring his day to a ordinary close, which was for "Good" by the common man's reckoning. And although it might seem like an old hand, good things never do happen to occur consecutively, despite one's best intentions. Bad things, alas, do, and it all began with a seemingly innocent offer.

"Here," Anya presented him a bottle of water nonchalantly, as the school bell tolled in the afternoon, marking the end of classes.

Well, more specifically, his adorable poison pink polka dot chihuahua did not so much present the bottled water, as she did plant the "gift" with great vehemence, before the entire gawking class. Then, Anya left, apathetically sniffing at the air, her head held high primly. She could not have been out of an ear shot, before the gossip and cat calls came streaming out from the resident rumor engines, scandalizing the gesture in misunderstanding, faster than Negi could laugh at misfortune.

He was in the doghouse, quite so, but if there was any mercy to be hand, his girls would not trash their fond memories of last night's embarrassing morsels. Many were already leaving, but some of the key players had yet to make their move. They were living gold mines of answers the boy professor intended to mine, and he was not going to get them if the veins ran dry. So, behaving as ineffably suave as ever, Negi twisted open the bottle and downed his just deserts, fully expectant of his squealing audience's rapt attention.

If only The Doctor knew how right he was about dressing up some bottled water, he would have never partaken in its rotten contents. His first and only warning was a sudden warming in his stomach and chest that made his eyes water and swim. Last Negi checked, he drank water, not an alcoholic depressant, so immediately red flags got triggered in his head, as the stricken boy tried to shake its heady effects by massaging his temples.

The action always seemed to be effective in relieving his nausea, placebo or not, but by the time Negi returned to his senses, he had already lost much precious time. The jaws of the trap were closing in, and the teeth looked hungry. Very. Hungry.

"A-_Anou_, N, N-N-Negi-sensei," Nodoka Miyazaki (No. 27) assaulted his impromptu barricade, with barely concealed lusty boldness. The understatement he only spared in her case, thanks to that incredulous fringe of hers, which still has not been trimmed. Was she averse to sunlight, or were some hair clips to keep her curtains in check way outside her realm of mousy thinking? Oh, and who gave her permission to break with decorum and use his first name, huh?

Bah! He certainly did not allow for such a concession in public spaces, last he reckoned, but nevertheless, The Doctor ignored the slight and played along, cooly, as he gauged his dwindling options, "Yes, Miyazaki-kun?"

Foewomen encroaching from all sides? Check.

"Um, I-I always wanted to say this, um, I mean... I, I-I-I dunno, sensei. The longer I stare at you, the more handsome you become, um, is what I th-th-think!"

Out of character behavior? Double checked.

"Why, and I imagine some hairclips or some clippers taken to your bangs to actually style them would do wonders to bring out an unexpectedly bold side of you as well, Miyazaki-kun."

His native girls still failing to appreciate the irony of his words? Priceless. For everything else, there was a plan, and all The Doctor require now was a moment's hesitation.

"Huwhaa...!" Nodoka swooned breathlessly, a dreamy sentiment that seemed to shared by the entire thrall, poised to strike at any moment. Some of them were even positively drooling.

It was not ideal, but it was high time for him to go, and he would just have to make do. With a breath for luck, Doctor N. Springfield rose from behind his desk in one suave motion, unfurling his necktie in an alluring rustle of satin. "Ahh, but I do wonder: girls-girl~s, is it me, or is it rather H-O-T in here?"

Popping his collar to tease with his neckline and high definite collarbones, guaranteed to increase fangirl squealing output by two-hundred percent might have been overkill, but the boy professor needed every advantage he could get. The honey trap was closing in, and he needed an exit, post haste. Besides, his riveted, breathy audience certainly appreciated the sight, judging by the several spontaneous nosebleeds, which disturbed the hell out of Negi, but he could not afford to falter at such a critical juncture. Grasping the mournful necktie, he twirled it about like a sling to be sure the building hiss of rotation caught the girls' lusty-eyed looks, no different from a grave robber to glittering gold coins.

_Good_. Just like that. Now / Pull it, pull it / Pull the TRI~GGA~! the magister magi sang bombastically in his head for courage, as he let the bait fly overhead to a resounding chorus of gasps. "Oh my gosh, I appear to have dropped my necktie. Goodness gracious! Would someone be a dear~ and fetch it for me?"

Anyone in their right minds would have known Negi threw it away on purpose, wearing a smug smirk on his face no less, but the outright primal outpour of scrambling squeals and cries confirmed his worst fears. The girls of Class 3-A, at least those present, were in the thrall of some manner of malign influence, one that had completely slipped under the notice of his A.R. glasses' passive-active scans for extranormal phenomenon. Magic, of course, was part of that extraordinary category, so how had it been done and who was the perpetrator?

Anya? His beloved poison pink polka dot chihuahua? Ho ho, heh, hehahahahhahahah! Now, why in the world would she concoct a spell that apparently made individuals and acquaintances, whom her employer rubbed shoulders with on a daily basis, madly infatuated with him? Ha. Ha ha ha ha! It was madness.

Absolute madness, which was Negi was busy making himself scarce from the school building, after an unfortunate run in with the ever macho Fujita-san, a P.E. Teacher, whom he had just confessed his fondness for The Doctor's savvy good looks. How flattering...really, but did the spell have to work on both grown **men **and adolescent girls? Had he been in better health, he might not have minded the intellectual challenge of bluffing his way past a slavering horde of lovestruck fools hell bent on monopolizing his fickle attention span.

Negi, alas, was very much inconvenienced, and even with the aid of pain killers to dull the pain, his back would give out long before his persistently squealing pursuers would give up their affections. He needed to hide. Certainly, giving the slip to dust devil kicking horde behind him was within his powers, but where would he seek shelter in the meantime, and better yet, whom with?

Even if Kommissar Anya was intent on ruining on perfectly normal day for him, it did not mean the boy professor had to accommodate her green ambition and sulk away, like a cat stuck up a tree. As beneficial the experience could prove to inferring the proper premises behind his sad state of affairs, Negi would rather go have a good time, preferably at someone else's expense. In fact, he knew just the individual he had been dying to pay a visit to, and could be relatively certain of her immunity to whatever phenomenon that was stirring many of his admirers from afair into persistently disturbing stalkers.

"I, Doctor N., Savvy-was-He, Wot's-it-Springfield, charge you, thus," the magister magi declared his decree in a boastful drawl, before prostrating himself with all the servile veneration of a repentant sinner. And who could possibly doubt his sincerity when there were tears manifest in his handsome puppy dog eyes?

"Please! I entreat you! Puh~lease, hide me, Hasegawa Chisame-_danna_! They've gone mad, I tell ye. All mad! And they're after me, trying t'jump me bones they are!"

Well, there was one person who could, and Hasegawa Chisame **twitched**. Karma sure had a funny way of working out. The shrewd shrew, embarrassed just the night prior by one of the worst indignities any girl could suffer, that is to be seen naked by a male of strange relations, was now confronted by another absurdity. Never in her wildest dreams could the net idol imagine that she could be made the victim of bad things happening consecutively in a row!

Still, the ball was in her court, and Chisame would be utterly remiss, if she did not try to make the best of a bad situation. Besides, revenge was a dish best served cold, and there was nothing like a little guilt tripping to make a (vainglorious) girl feel better. _Fu fu fu fu fu_...OH HO HO HO HO HO!

"Get in. Now."

It was exactly the words Doctor N. Springfield wanted to here. Trick-or-Treat; he came to play, and there was plenty of tricks and treats in his trauma kit to shock all the twisted normalcy out of poor Chisame Hasegawa's narcissistic neurosis. Or...should he say? _Chiu_-chan, the amateur teen idol sensation that has taken the internet by storm. Adored by hackers and enthusiasts just about everywhere, all men kneel before her: She, the undisputed Queen of the Net.

And today, The Doctor would treat that self-serving delusion by administering a desperately needed dosage of a _**reality check**_.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Sorry for the wait. This episode really became a lot more ambitious than I planned. At first it was going to be pretty straightforward, but as some discerning folks can tell, I ended up going back to do some more house keeping. Yes, there is stuff in here all the way back from volume 1 and 2, except with a definite Springfield, Ph.D. twist, so I hope it was not too unbearable.

On the bright side, at least Chisame finally got her time to get one screen, and Nodoka got to make another cameo. Oh, and I promise most of the dangling plot bunnies from this episode will get rounded up next time. Like who in the world is That Ermine with Tribal Tattoos, Bling, and a Mohawk? What will Kazumi's delicious punishment be? Will The Doctor's back pain abate? And are we going to get on with the rest of the Evangeline arc already?

Dohohoho! Simmer down, my young friends. Everything will get done in due time, believe it.

That said, plenty of nods and homages as always. Oh, and I hope you all can dig the character progression in this episode, too.

Hnnn, what else? Guess that's about all I got. Thanks for tuning in once again this week, and a round of applause to the reviewers who made their voices heard. Please, do continue to do so, as your feedback is this project's lifeblood. Telling an awesome tale is a two-street of MANLY! TRU-LUV, ya hear? It's like a Dew-mocracy, or something to that effect.

See y'all at the next gig.

Peace.


	15. Chapter 15

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 15:

O Hai! With a Chance of Blackmail

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

Now in the spirit of truth, The Doctor admitted to being awfully premature in his verdict, when all he had to go on was circumstantial evidence and rumor. It could not possibly hold up in any reasonable court of law. Because no matter how provoking the promiscuous data might be, Negi still needed irreversibly damning evidence, before he shall have the incredulous Coke bottle glasses wearing wench curled around his finger.

Hah. Only a fool would be believe he acted out of whatever semblance of goodness in his black heart, with no motive involved, especially for the sake of sheep, who were comfortable, more or less, in the opiate convenience of modern society. Negi had little pathos to spare for consumable assets. They all had an expiration date, so why should he make like some skinflint when there was all manner of potential lying around, waiting for an enterprising gentleman, such as himself, to make the best of it?

Chisame Hasegawa (No. 25) did not even register on his radar as the ideal plebeians would call "Woman". Female she was, by a biological fact, but the muliebrity Negi identified with a "Woman" did not exist within her. Perhaps, the passive-aggressive fussbudget might discover those characteristic, given time and a few discombobulating reality checks. The Doctor, alas, was a realist and knew it most likely would never happen, since modern society tended to make an effort to provide a universal safety blanket, in the hopes of preventing the rise of "Crazy Ones".

Psychoanalysis aside, he was more concerned what she could do for him at the moment, other than become another amusing plaything for his suspect tastes in "cuteness". His dear Anya might be technologically competent, and Kazumi Asakura knew how to get information the old-fashioned way, but this was the 21st century, epoch of the Information Age. Life and death can be determined by the quality of the intelligence acted upon, in an instant, so surprise-surprise Doctor N. Springfield required: a hacker.

Oh sure, Miss Hasegawa might protest his suspicion and proclaim her good mores loudly, but one step into the atmosphere of her dorm room alone, hammered home the first nail into her own conviction, easy. The den was positively tenebrous, the blinds being down not helping an inch to alleviate the acid stench of suspicion. Everywhere his gaze happened to sweep by, Negi wondered if such an inhospitable hive could be the "modest" abode of two healthy young girls?

The space was utilitarian, more like a private studio for the lone eccentric renting out this particular flat. There were no posters or needless ostentation that might speak of a personality per say, but what she lacked in flimsy material, Hasegawa had plenty in hardware. The Doctor imagined it was the result of a fundamental redirection in her fiscal expenditures, relative to desire. Although in regards to nature vs. nurture, some ten thousand years worth of socio-bio-cultural conditioning that formed the female psyche should have been rightly miffed at the aberration she represented.

Where there should have been rows of cutesy nonsense and vain paraphernalia, instead Hasegawa lined it with high-resolution cameras, and great humming towers of "logic engines" that spawned a crawling mass of wiring to every outlet and extension within its reach. Ah, and he must not forget the high definition monitors so huge, as to be phallically laughable enough to justify her egregiously "bad" prescription glasses. The description "Good with computers", in Negi's opinion, had to be some manner of diabolical euphemism, one to which he could tip his hat. Chisame Hasegawa was not good with computers; she was obsessed with the cutting edge.

Idol or not, the evidence precipitated strongly in favor of a less than pristine hobby or two, although the question did occur to him: just what was feminine about the Coke bottle glasses clad eccentric, other than biology? And what was that hint of material sticking out from her closet? How come he did not notice earlier? Come to think of it, her dorm room had an odd air about it, as if she had been in the process of some activity only to turn around and tidy up hurriedly, with his unwanted appearance.

Ha, the plot thickens. Your move first, White Queen, thought The Doctor with an inward smirk, as his moody hostess returned, some refreshments in hand.

The low table set, an optimal choice of furniture in consideration of her environment no doubt, Hasegawa did not disappoint, "So, what's going on, _sensei_?"

Diet soda; what a waste of chemistry, he eyed the popping dark caramel concoction lamentably, before breaking out into a sheepish laugh. "Ah ha ha, 'tis a vague and complicated inquiry you ask, Hasegawa-kun, unless you feel it is permissible for the both of us to speak frankly?"

"_Sure_, I don't see the harm in it..." Chisame was disgruntled, quite so. If the smug brat was going to give her a free meal ticket for chewing him out, she saw no harm in making him regret his words, with interest, "unless you have something to say about it, Springfield-sensei."

"Heh he he, what is there to say, Hasegawa-kun?" Negi went right on laughing. "I never did perpend that my candidacy in a popularity contest could lead to such a tremendous outpouring of afterclaps."

Even in the subdued gloom, Chisame's Coke bottle lenses managed to flicker with a hint of exasperation, as she clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "_Sensei_, do you have any idea at all about who you are at this school?"

"Oh? Should I have been paying attention to the gossip?" said Negi, as he borrowed that simpering smile he loathed so much on Konoka Konoe's pretty face. It was a low blow but an effective method to test his opponent's hair trigger reflex.

His pupil shook, as if stirred by the detestable presence of a rat...or was it an ermine? Yes, he could recall something with a mohawk, bling (read: golden and silvery jewelry and chains), and tribal tattoos...

"H-How... R, Reckless! Excuse me, but, I can't believe it that such an irresponsible person became a teacher at this school. Unbelievable reckless. Don't you know anything about an image, _sensei_? Appearances? That sort of thing?"

Ah, what a tongue she has! Maybe her moody looks were not all for show, eh? Good. Good! It would be boring if his opponent did not put up a fight. Yes, please, entertain him more, Hasegawa Chisame!

"I am aware, rightly so, but must I fuss and fret over such petty delicacies all the time? A whimsical lapse of judgment in the harmless spirit of adventure every once in a while helps an upright adult from turning brain dead, do you not think so? Besides, I already helped transform 3-A from the worst to the best, undoing much of the squalor Takahata-sensei allowed to fester under his doting tutelage. I mean no ego, but I think I am entitled to a little indulgence, and it was not as if the contest was limited to students only."

Chisame made a derisive trill with her throat, but nodded her unspoken agreement nevertheless. Sloth she could not accuse him of, as her wonder boy of a teacher had labored tirelessly. However, there were other absurdities she was not going to budge on, no matter what, in the name of common sense!

"Oh, I'm sure it's an age gap thing. _**Normally**_, you don't find teenage teachers being put in charge at any normal school, period, since I'm pretty sure it'd be a violation of a couple child labor laws, right?"

Ho, what a joy! The girl reminded The Doctor quite a bit of his dear Anya, despite being something of a spiritual twin sister to Kagurazaka. Unlike either of his playmates (read: toys), Hasegawa did not mind conceding territory, but would impede his progress over the threshold with a kiss from razor sharp silk, making him bleed for every extra inch he made into her lair.

"I could not agree with you more, Hasegawa-kun, which is why we see no such extravagances in much of civilized society today."

"So why haven't they reported you yet?"

She also seemingly did not care that he was who he was, a fantastic outlier in a world of brutal statistics. In fact, if his instincts were right, it seemed to annoy her greatly.

"Ha ha ha! I hate to be the despoiler of your youthful naivety, Hasegawa-kun, but in this modern world of convenience, it is who you know and not the law that pays dividends. Of course, I had my doubts about such a dubious venture at first, yet your classmates have proven quite interesting, well worth the effort for at least a chapter in my memoirs to come."

Now, if there was a fitting metaphor for her, it ought to be a spider. And what could she hate more than fire? _Huhuhuhuhu_! Well then, he just had to pinpoint the best place to begin burning down her entire web, savvy-like, eh?

"Those lunatics?" Chisame wrinkled her nose snobbishly. "Don't throw me together in the same mad house as them, _sensei_. It's because of them and your irresponsibility that I have to put up with you, just like this, right now!"

"My my, Hasegawa Chisame-san, do you presume to be the sane one in this bedlam?"

"Isn't it obvious? I am the sane one, and the normal one to boot. Those happy, yippy idiots are all out of control! This class was already strange since the beginning, but it's been getting weirder and weirder! Going all the way back to our first year, a whole circus troupe of these so-called exchange students show up one after another. Heck, we even got a bunch of those OBVIOUSLY underage ones that should be going back to elementary school. What's going on here, huh? Are we like some kind of big time daycare center or something?"

"Oh, is that how it is, Hasegawa-kun?" Negi raised a brow at her fiery rant. Against all expectations, her lips had become rather...loose. What was going on here? He had not even brought out the better part of his bloodletting lip service yet.

"I'm not done yet. I've got more proof! Just look at that Karakuri girl? Pfftt, ridiculous! Even her name is a dead give away for what she really is! Hey. Seriously. I mean. Come on! How can nobody notice that that girl...is a freaking robot? She's gotta be! It's so obvious, even a kiddy-gartner can tell!"

Chisame raged like she had never done before, breathing, shaking, like a bull that had seen red. Some rational part of her spoke up against the undulating crimson tide that she was making a huge mistake, and the passionately irate person was nothing like her normal self. After all, the auburn-haired girl had long ago grasped the import of masks, intimately! So, why? Why was she mouthing off with everything that no other ears should ever be privileged to her? What could be motivating her to be so shamelessly forthright?

"But you and your little cousin, _sensei_? You guys are the last straw! Aaaaaahhhh! Don't I deserve normal school life? Why are all of you weirdoes-"

Negi's palms itched, an electric silver of anxiety that shoot straight his hands up to his spine. What could it be? A portent of opportunity? Or an omen of danger? Well, either way, why not laugh and grow fat?

"Ah ha ha ha he, hehe, hahahahhahahah! F-Forgive me, b, but, pffffffttt-HAHAHAhahahhaha! Ooh, this is rich, ho ho ho ho, stupendously rich! Ha ha ha ha!"

"What's so funny, you head loon?" Chisame colored at what she perceived to be a blatant effrontery of her noble castigation. "Normal schools aren't like this! Don't you see how wrong this is?"

"And, pfffttt-hehehe, what are you going, ehehehe, to do about it?"

"Wha, what do you think? I'm going to go out and tell the whole world about it. The PTA. The Board. The Internet. Everyone. This...this outrageousness!"

Outrageousness? The Doctor scoffed, inwardly. Mahora Academy was virtually an asylum for the criminally beautiful. How could it be surprising that there were some loons about, who bucked the trend of normalcy, when they were only selected in the first place for their physical attractiveness?

Still, he was obligated to play, so on the games went, "Ah ha ha ha, puh-please, n-no more, eheheheheh, Hasegawa-kun; if this is, heh, what passes for uncommon common sense, ha ha ha, we might have no choice but to throw **you **in a strait jacket."

"Wha, whaa, WHAAAAAAAAAaaaaa? D, Do you know who I am, you little tramp?"

Him? A tramp? Was she serious?

"To use a fond phrase by the Yanks, '_No idea; No impact_', Hasegawa Chisame-san. You never made much of an effort to standout, so I cannot recall just **who **you are in particular. Is that a satisfactory answer?"

"NYAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!" the rumored net idol yowled, as if burned by scalding hot oil. "Don't get so high and mighty just because you got a taste of what it feels to be loved and adored!"

Ah, it's burning; it's burning! Her web and the poor spider are all burning quite fantastically, ha ha ha, but what is that? Is that a cat emerging from its husk? Ha ha ha ha ha! How absurd. Good, good, good; come on, dance for me more flashily, more selfishly, more shamefully, Mademoiselle Cat. Ha ha ha ha ha!

"Oh, what interesting drivel you are spouting from your frothing mandibles now, Hasegawa-sama~! Care to put out or shut up for us mere mortals, hmm? Or are you all just hot air, huh?"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, and be quiet! I'll show you what it means. I'll definitely show you what it really means to be loved!"

Goodness gracious, Hasegawa was trembling like a groaning volcano. Could this be an unexpected side effect of that malign influence, which had stirred many of his acquaintances, teachers and students alike, into a dramatic lovestruck performance? But Hasegawa should have no feelings for him, aside from fresh resentment (what with him seeing her in the buff just the night prior), yet here it was all coming out. Not love, of course, but all of her pent up vitriol against The Doctor, overflowing at once in a sudden flash flood.

Negi had not been banking on such an bombastically flashy display, but maybe Anya's prank (assuming it was her and why not her?) had a different purpose than he originally divined. It might not be a juvenile love potion, but a kind of empathy potion that magnified the pathos of those who came into contact with its drinker. In the girls case earlier, it was there puppy love blossoming into full blown lust, while his co-workers admiration took to disturbing hero worship.

But what of Chisame Hasegawa then? Frustration? Indeed, the Chisame he had become acclimated to would never speak of such things, although it was damningly evident she had entertained such thoughts about her surreal environment. But just what had it morphed into then? In any case, the spell proved to be a convenient catalyst, which would soon provide the evidence he wanted, without The Doctor having to make a fool out of himself, since Chisame was going to do all the hard work for him.

...Although, if it was a love potion, she had a rather bizarrely contradictory fashion of expressing her affection. Was this not a case of what the locals called "_Tsundere_", could it?

"Drink your eyes on this! The great charming, Chiu-sama~!"

Oh dear, it is checkmate already? Awww, and here he was hoping to enjoy the show a little bit longer...wait, there was nothing wrong with letting her put on airs, until he grew tired of the spectacle, huh? Huhhhhhhhhhhhh?

"I'm too charming for my school / Too charming for my school / School's gonna~ up~ 'n' leave~ me!"

That's the way, girl. Dance. Dance more for me! And... The Doctor balked all of a sudden. Seriously, is that a stripper pole? Really? Really-really now? And a strobbing disco ball! Wait, is Hasegawa drunk? Or am **I **drunk? Huh. Huh? Huuuuuweeeeeeeghhhhhhhhhh!

"It's alarming how charming I feel~!"

And later that day, when he at last returned to his home away from home, Negi eagerly swept his dear cousin of sorts into a hearty embrace, nuzzling her cheek against his. Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova did protest loudly, like bewildered and flustered howling banshee. But nothing in the world could make him want to release her, until he had had his fill of thanking her for all her help today, plots to which she flatly protested any involvement in. Ho ho ho ho! Verily indeed, he would not have wanted her any other way, because Doctor N. Springfield suspected he was now scarred for life, in regards to poll dancing bunny girls at strip clubs.

And who could be more instrumental in the effort than jealous meddling of his much beloved poison pink polka dot chihuahua? Hah. Irony. But good grief, man, just where the hell had that stripper pole and strobbing disco ball come from anyways? No wait a minute, on second thought, maybe he should not ponder of such things, as Negi could still write off his trauma as an unexpected opiate or alcohol induced side effect of Anastasia's suspect potion.

Heh he he he he... Oh hell and damnation, he wanted to forget the whole bloody fetid experience so badly!

Chisame Hasegawa, what a narcissistic exhibitionist.

_Blegh_.

* * *

Thereafter, Doctor N. Springfield acquired another formidable asset to his growing arsenal, in spite of the considerable cost to his morale. Chisame Hasegawa, seat number twenty-five, **obviously **avoided his gaze in classes, much like the plague. To be fair, it was a mutual sentiment he shared with her, since the boy professor felt more so the victim than the perpetrator in the incident that will never be mentioned again under pain of inexplicable mortification. See, despite having ulterior motives long before he appeared under the threshold of her door, Negi had never wanted, ever, for his arguably twisted honor to be exposed to such wanton lewdness that bordered on the pornographic within the debased walls of Hasegawa's haunt.

It was a surreal nightmare he would not soon forget, but in the meantime, The Doctor eagerly looked forward to settling his grievous account with a certain Kazumi Asakura. In fact, the date could not have come sooner, for unwilling to stomach the increasingly subversive fiascos any longer, he had made his intentions clear in class. Negi was moved by such a public show of support, but to be frank, he had already arranged for a partner some time ago. There were quite a number of put out grousers after his proclamation, however, the boy professor anticipated such a reaction well in advance.

It took no more than a wry word that he had enjoyed the "fun" festivities, and should there happen to be another celebratory occasion, Negi would be glad to receive an encore event. Class 3-A being the easily fired up ruffians they were, underneath all that make up and estrogen for the most part, eagerly assented to his skillful maneuvering of the situation. True, it may have been foolishness on his part to make such a vague promise, but it was the best compromise available in his arsenal.

As the idol, in the "people's eye", Doctor N. Springfield did not have much say in the matter. So instead of struggling futilely against the yoke of his status, it was better to cultivate his mystique, however long it should last. In hindsight, he should be grateful in a way to Kazumi Asakura's meddling too, since she had helped elevated his star studded manifestation even more.

However, it was also a fact that the paparazzi girl's power play had resulted in a string of mad mayhem, one after another. Asakura needed to be reminded of her place. Although while glancing over her provided dossiers that afternoon, on the very same day, Negi had to wonder if she expected to get away unscathed without a fuss?

Such naive thinking seemed...unlike the character he had come to know.

"Good work," the boy professor breathed, as he snapped shut the files crisply. "As expected of Asakura-sensei, is it, now?"

"_Kusukusukusu_, oh my, you don't have to put it like that, Springfield-sensei!" giggled Kazumi, flashing him what she thought to be a winsome grin. Heavens only know how many hours a day she spent practicing such an insidiously bewitching gesture.

She had already fooled him once, and he would not suffer her fox-like whimsy a second time. Hell, Negi would damn himself of his own accord, before partaking in such a bitter display of masochism!

"_Ja_~_n_, I guess my part is over here, so-"

"Oh? I never said anything about our transaction being complete, did I, **Asakura Kazumi**?"

The glint of steel in The Doctor's humoresque melody stopped the paparazzi girl dead in her tracks. It might have been a beautiful afternoon in Spring, but for all she felt, it must have been blisteringly dry dessert in the Sahara. Kazumi sweated. Of course, she realized her power play would turn out badly for her, after Springfield's quite unexpected acceptance of her hint, an idea that she had only entertained, without any terrible seriousness.

"Asakura-kun, did we or did we not have an agreement?" Negi's beaming smile would have been fit for a man who had killed someone, and enjoyed it. "My memory, I apologize, is not so sharp today."

Oh, you too smart for your own good dummy! I wouldn't be in this situation, if you were the prideful snob I thought of through and through, thought Kazumi in anguish, as a hairline fracture split open upon her indomitable grin. "O-Oh, _sensei_, you kidder, you. It's not-"

"Why do you protest so much? Is there something shameful about you that I should have been brought abreast of some time ago? Hmmm? I am told you are easily in the running for the top five beauties amongst your classmates, so your self-image should not be a problem."

Ack! The English tyrant was pressing his attack. Argh, think, Kazumi; think! There must be some way out of this still, like...

"Oh, but I, you see, I have some-one, actually, _kusukusu_...!"

"Is that how it is?" Negi frowned at her, with put out slackening of his shoulders. He would have looked pathetic, if it were not for his retort. "Funny you would proclaim that truth now, when I remember hearing a rather different truth, when we began this venture, something along the lines of...**this**."

He spoke innocently, but to Kazumi, his carefully crafted words were no better than a howling blizzard freezing her flesh to the bone. She had a horrible feeling that her predicament was about to reach its climax, like a checkmate in _shougi_... Kyaah! Springfield was reaching into his blazer, what was he...?

The sound of Kazumi Asakura's chipper tones suddenly escaped from her voiceless lips. "_Oh, no way! I don't have time to bother with trivial things like that...but~ I could settle for you from now on, if you like, Ne~gi-sen~sei._"

...b, bu, b-b-but that was impossible! Kazumi's eyes widened and shivered. After all, there was no way she had spoken those words just now. So when? Since when? How? W, w, w, w, w, w, WAIT A MINUTE, is that a...!

"Y, You taped it?" shrieked The Mahora News' "Demon Journalist" in unfathomable shock.

What... What a dirty trick!

And the one responsible, perhaps, the real demon sitting on the bench before her, smiled nonchalantly, as if already discarding his bloodstained gloves free of the macabre, gut wrenching crime he had committed.

"Insurance, my dear; insurance. I always fully expect to be made a plaything by untrustworthy characters. It is the honest joe, however, whom tortures me in my worst case scenarios. They are wild cards, jokers; I cannot posit to know what they are thinking and what they will do half the time I am afraid."

What a splendid scoundrel. Dastard. Monster. Devil. No, such appellations failed to tell the entire scoop; the title Kazumi truly sought after could only be thus...

"S, Se, _sensei_~, y-you're so mean~, _uuuuu_!"

The Tyrant Prince.

Doctor N. Springfield, hardly, batted an eye, at his downtrodden foe, "In any case, I suppose our differences are now settled. I pray you will be a good partner for me, Asakura Kazumi-san, and do honor to us both. If there is any training you require for the catwalk, do inform me at once. I happen to know some experts who would be happy to give you some lessons and so-called tips for thought."

Mammon and Leviathan would have a field day with Asakura, he imagined, but if there was any pair around here who knew the depravities of beauty like the back of their hand, it was them. He could guarantee with near overwhelming certainty that the paparazzi girl would be a changed person, forever.

"_Uuuuu_~, w-well done," Kazumi sniffled, clutching a trembling fist against her heaving bosom. "It's, it's my absolute destruction. I, I'll definitely engrave this in my heart, _uuuu_!"

"Foolish girl, it would have been easier on you to repent sooner."

"Kusukusu, _uuu_, but then this wretched woman of Asakura would've missed out on how serious you can be, Springfield-sensei. I, _mou_, won't ever treat you half-heartedly a second time. Please, remember this, _uuuu_! A complete victory. I, I'm moved to tears!"

"Yes, yes; here is a packet of tissues for you. Now, be the good conniving girl you are, and be on your way, with your tail tucked between your legs."

"_Uuuuu_, S-Spring-field-sensei~! Absolutely, I'll find a way to pay you back for this~, _uuuu_!"

"Heh, then I shall look forward to it, _kitsune_," Negi grinned, as he leaned back with a sigh, closing his eyes out of courtesy.

It was the least the boy professor could offer, after having so thoroughly cornering and crushed his opponent to smithereens. Kazumi Asakura would no doubt make good on her ultimatum, but in the meantime, basking in the glow of victory, too, was a prerogative of the victor. The last thing the loser wished for, was to be made a spectacle of, visually observed, as they left the chessboard in disgrace. Spectators could try to romance the event all they wished, but humans in the overwhelming majority were proud, petty creatures, and only victory can ever erase the ignominious agony of defeat.

But worry not, The Doctor would not run or hide; he was a patient hunter, always eager for his next challenge. If anything, Negi loathed absolutely the leisurely laxity of smothering civilization that had made him soft, and continued to erode away at his cunning senses. At the rate things were going, he would have no choice but to suffer the consequences of creating his own monsters to test his mettle against! Ha ha ha ha-

**FWHUMP**!

Doctor N. Springfield blinked, as some huge force bounced his rump off his seat roughly. The bench gave a pitiful creaking protest of splintering wood and metal, when gravity settled him back down, adding to the sudden numbness in his hindquarters, but none of those observable facts mattered to the boy professor. They were only logical consequences, after all, of the actions taken by the owner of the looming shadow beside him. Whomever it was, the presence's mass was no trifling matter to be laughed at, especially when they could fatigue benches by just sitting on them normally.

"Hawt DAY-MN~! My man, you is one bad~ mutha-know-what," a burly voice congratulated him raucously, masculine.

The owner might have been in good humor, but it did little to take the bite off his primal baying that seemed fit for a bear. Correction: it was a bear, of the species _Ursus maritimus_ that had no business being in the middle of Kantou region of Japan, right in the middle of Spring! He had more in common with the Coco-Cola Company and the zoo than a pleasant afternoon high at twenty-eight degrees Celsius (read: roughly 82-degrees F), which could lead to a real case of heat stroke for the unfortunate bear.

Decked out in tribal tattoos, an assortment of "bling!", and a black mohawk, he chugged a chilled two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola Cherry, glistening with fresh condensation that should have done little to alleviate his urgent plight. Six-hundred eighty kilograms, by Negi's best approximation anyhow, should be overheating dreadfully so, the delusional daydream beore him was perfectly healthy. If the magister magi had been in the Wizarding World, he could believe what he saw, with his augmented vision, to be reality.

However, talking civilized polar bears with opposable thumbs cannot, and DO NOT, exist in Japan! So, why did The Doctor have to tolerate such an absurdity? Well, there was no other reason other than his jolly delusion could crush his skull into an un-jolly like strawberry paste, with one careless swipe of the bear's paws, is why! Heavens, he must be out of his bloomin' mind to dream up something so vivid and tangible in his less than lucid moments, truly.

"Heh heh heeh! But, where be mah manners, my man?" the English-speaking polar bear winked at Negi in good cheer, his rough, rowdy accent thickened with a pinch of reverberating bombast.

The boy professor for his part could barely restrain the urge to pinch himself. It was not as if such an asinine gesture in the face of futility had a zero percent chance of proving itself effective now, could it?

"In a-nother life, Mister T woulda been a hustlin' no-body by the name, Albert T. Chamomile, but dat was in a-nother life, and I don't know nuffin' about no-body no more, know what I'm sayin'?"

Triple negatives? This is...Ebonics! thought Negi aghast in horror at the butchering of the spoken English language. He could believe what his ears were hearing, either.

"Yea~h, you gots the T, ain't ya? Heh he he heh! Mah man!" the polar bear laughed heartily, thumping the bench with an audible snap of wood.

The magister magi paled at the nonchalant display, hardly more than an absent minded exercise of the brute's strength by his reckoning, but the last thing he needed to be doing was losing his composure at such a petty display. There were more important matters to worry about, and at the top of his list, verifying how much of his experience so far was not a bloody damn hallucination!

"The name's Augustus T. Coletrain, man o' many names an' many faces. Mah friends know me by first name Mister, middle name 'period', and last name T! ...Although I'm-ma just Cole to You-Know-Her. Gosh, some days even I pity MY-self for bein' the only best friend in THE WORLD to dat shrew, but that's enough jibba-jabba!"

So, the polar bear has a name does he? Excellent, now I know who to curse, when I happen to be dragged to Hell, thought Negi, massaging his temples in an effort to head off the incoming headache he sensed in his throbbing nerves. "And I presume this is the segment where you proceed to hustle me?"

"Oh hell naw, mah man!" Mister T pouted, his eyes and expression agape in wounded bewilderment. "I don't hustle no more. Mister T is legit, be~lieve that! Heh he he heeh! Naw, I gots some-thin' better for you, 'cuz Mister T deals in one thing and one thing only: In-Foo-Mation!"

Doctor N. Springfield **paused**. There were things he could put up with, and then, there were things that set him off like a lit match to a powder keg. No surprises, his switch just got switched...over unsatisfactory pronunciation.

"In-For-Mation."

"Oh, my bad," the easy-going polar bear laughed along with him, presumably. Mister T must have thought he was kidding around, except there was a not single trace of humor on the boy professor. "In-Foo-Mation!"

"In-For-Mation," Negi corrected, again.

"Right, right! In-Foo-Mation," the mohawk-clad bear still remained oblivious of the danger signs.

"In-FOR-Mation," The Doctor drawled empathically, as he prepared to unsheathe his favored bloodletting service.

Such was the darkly magnitude of his vehemence that even a dunce like Mister T seemed to pick up wind of it at last, "...In, In-F-F-f-FOO-Mation?"

Enough. Doctor N. Springfield had had it! Bring it; bring on the war!

"...Mister T, sir, with all due respect to which you are not obliged, because you may swallow the entirety of my head in one gulp-"

"DAY~MN, you crazy?" the polar bear spluttered back, staring at him like he had grown an abominable vestigial limb where it did not belong in the first place. "Why would I do dat? Huh? Why would I do dat? That's. just. UN-Sanitary!"

"That your information is worth the expense I am going to incur at my personal mental health therapist-"

"I'm-a shapeshifter," this Mister T proclaimed to a point by transforming in a sudden ugly wrench of bone and sinew from bear to a hulking silverback gorilla, "a one-man info enterprise! So, do I look like a no-good cracker to you?"

"Right... And is that meant to be plausible reasoning to me, so I believe I should not be fleeing with all the testicular fortitude I can muster, gibbering like a mad man? Tsk. Tsk. Tsk! It **is **becoming _**bear**_-y difficult to deny the absurdity that I am having an intelligent conversation with a sapient, shapeshifting polar silverback _**bear**_-illa, Mister T, sir."

"Man~, give it a rest, or else, you can kiss my bloody diamonds and rubies 'bout dat bloodsucka, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, _hasta la vista_. Ya dig?"

Now, Negi had to raise his brow at that inflammatory statement, which he found quite intriguing

"Sounds...in-teresting. I happen to fancy...**interesting**. What is your going rate, man?"

"I don't need no gold...this time, ya crazy thing."

"No gold?"

"But, a favor woulda do just as fine, since I want you to work that smooth _magick _on 'Lil Miss Coco-LOV~A, is what! Heh he he heeh!"

Wait...SERIOUSLY?

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Short episode, I know (read: it's actually closer to normal length from the earlier chapters). But I kinda lost two and half days to the Marines, and I hate to go a week without a release when I can help it, so here I am.

I know I'm going to break some hearts here, but I'm like on my last legs here as I put the finishing touches to this episode at 0225 in the morning, meaning I'm gonna have to skip the usual pleasantries.

Promise the next show will be even better than the last, so do tune in again.

Night.

P.S. Yes, THAT is who y'all think it is, re-imagined, Springfield, PhD.-style. Yeah, I'm nuts, and now I've got Chisame and Kazumi hooked to the ether too. Ain't that the truth? And yeah, I used THAT SONG.


	16. Chapter 16

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. WARNING: Bad girls are on the loose, and they're coming to get you!

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 16:

It all Depends on How You Use the "Carrot and Stick" Method

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

Snap! _Crackle_. Pop! _**Squelch**_. _Wrench_. **Thud**.

In his admittedly brief existence, Doctor N. Springfield had experienced many a cacophonous noise that should never be vocalized by any body, living or otherwise UN-living. He took umbrage to such things not for the lack of canorous resonance that they evoked, but because they were synonymous to filth, rottenness, an unforgiving reminder of one's frail mortality. It was an ugly fact that the monsters he used to fight with loved to laud and bait over his head, like some twisted carrot on a stick.

They made a lot of promises, and tall boasts, which utterly failed to save them, as The Apprentice assisted The Master in disassembling these screaming Stygian horrors and their mortal lackeys back to their base components, quantum by quantum. Thus, it really quite vexed him that Augustus T. Coletrain reminded him, unintentionally, once again how Negi Springfield had been removed from the battle lines of the Aeon War. No, he had not been so much removed, as the boy mage had been fired from his post!

The Doctor badly desired to wring the freshly transformed shapeshifter, now a verily familiar ermine with his characteristic trappings, into a gory blood red towel...of fur. Heh he he he... Alack, the act of slaughtering the messenger, across all history and cultures, has always been bad form, and he was not about to go slipping and sliding down that most unsavory path himself. So, Negi grit his teeth, stuck his lower lip out, and listened.

"Now, Mister T is gonna say dis here once," said the informant, smoothing out his mohawk, like an animal preening itself. Then again, he was an animal, so the analogy was not totally off-base, right? "An' I pity the fool dat don't hear me the first time, you UN-derstand?"

Wait, that cannot be the proper way of things... thought The Doctor, as he nodded back absently. Damn, it has been quite some time since I have dealt with shapeshifters, and they come cut from all sorts of different cloth. I wonder if the esteemed Monsieur T, even has a human form as his base in the first place?

"Heh he he heeh, mah man! Nuffin' brightens my day more than an audience that under-stand the word, heeh, but let's get on with it, yea?"

Strange; the pattern of his tattoos and the size of his jewelry shift accordingly to accommodate the changes in his frame. In fact, even stranger yet, he does not appear to be limited by mass at all. The silverback gorilla and polar bear are relatively comparable creatures...but to shift from those forms to an ermine... Hrrnnn... The passive-active scans are not detecting any changes in the environmental mana flow either... How very in~teresting.

"As you mighta figured, that Evangeline Mac-whateva ain't yo' run of the mill bloodsucka. Actually, the little momma's pretty high-class compared to the whole undead life spectrum. She got mad prestige, know what I'm sayin'?"

"Please, do clarify, Mister T," Negi drawled sternly, unamused at the wry wink his squirrelly company shot his way. "The precise nature of your information is riding on how savvy-like I choose to fulfill your request, you realize? You would not want slovenly work to taint her experience now, would you?"

But the effulgence in Mister T's little eyes grew only brighter at his trepidation, "Heh he he heeh, easy, mah man; easy! Y'know, Mister T don't settle for nuffin' but the best, 'cuz get this, yo' Eva? Ho~! She's descended from prime True Ancestor blood is what's up. No B-S! And you know what that means, right? Heh he he heeh."

The air seemingly tensed with an absence of sound at the stark revelation. Doctor N. Springfield might have been rusty about his shapeshifters, but knowledge pertaining to dark creatures was always a priority on his list. Suffice to say, the ramifications was making his blood pressure rise, with a barely contained drive to render violence to the scatterbrained simpletons, who had baked this latest disaster for him to partake.

"I do not have just any vampire in my class... I have a Dead Apostle, is it? One of the twenty-seven Ancestors? Or is she just some riff-raff?"

It rightly tasted something rotten.

"Cha-ching! Mister T is so proud, I can go cry you a river, mah man. Heh he he heeh!"

"I am not in the mood."

"Heh he he heeh, right. Uh...yea~, Lil' Eee never made it to Ancestor bling, although being a ig'rant big-headed you-know-what, she likes to think she is a True Ancestor, which if she was, you's be in even more trouble than it's worth your time."

Stop prancing about and answer my questions, you fur-brained numskull, thought Negi, fighting to keep his composure, even as his complexion reddened with his rising choler. "Then, what **is **she?"

"She was a Dark Mistress, back in the day."

The Doctor seethed, red to his ears. He could not believe it, the gross neglect of any stretch of decency here at Mahora Academy! First, the boy professor had to undo the damage of Takamichi T. Takahata's doting delinquency, and now, there was another mess for him to expunge that stemmed from the incompetence of his superiors? Unbelievable. Just what kind of ennui required a farce of such dangerous magnitudes to relieve itself?

"And a Dark Mistress is just a step below an Ancestor, hmph. _Wunderbar_. Now the question becomes: just what in the blooming blinkered hell is a Dead Apostle doing here in. MY. SCHOOL?"

"Eva's Mahora Academy's private guard~ dog. Woof-woof. Bark-bark. Heh he he heeh!" the shady ermine added cheerily, in clear disregard of the darkening atmosphere. It was only after those words left his mouth sadly that he thought better, seeing the smoldering outrage unfold on the young magister magi. "Wait... Didn't dey tell you that when you signed the papers?"

Negi's spiteful snort said it all, "...If The Dean was not so old and frail, I would feel no remorse at breaking every bone in his body. Shame, it would only require me, just glowering at him, to produce those macabre results. Tsk, tsk, tsk. I prefer a hands-on approach, you see?"

Despite the frightening wriggling of his fingers for emphasis, Augustus T. Coletrain did not appear to be piqued in the slightest by his gruesome promise of violence. The informant was much more perturbed by his own performance blunder, which he punctuated by an audible slap of his brow against the standing bottle of cola.

"Oh Day~mn, Mister T just gave out a freebie! Doh, doh, doh, doh! Me...and mah big mouhf!"

It may have been an oddly amusing sight had he been in a sanguine mood, but The Doctor felt no relief. He was much too preoccupied with loathsome dread to care for such light-hearted antics, especially when comprehending his deteriorating situation was an essential imperative to his survival.

"But how would they control..." Negi muttered aloud, uncaring of present company, "wait, that mongrel leech said something about her freedom... So, it must be a true, and a guard dog, he says... Therefore... Some kind of curse, perhaps? A limiter... Yes, that would be a plausible explanation for her evident powerlessness... Then... Oh hell, I should have held back more when we fought the first time... Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

Being the largely neutral instigator here, Mister T could care less for such rambling. Oh no, the informant's joy stemmed from the privilege of being allowed to fully enjoy his young companion's fretfulness. "Heh he he heeh, no more hints from Mister T, mah man. I gots faith in you's that you can figure out the rest."

"Just like everyone else in this exponentially deplorable place appears to believe I am the ultimate solution to all their problems, you figure?"

"Well~...Mister T says you be doin' a bang up job, man. Ain't a good thing to know you're relied on to make big things happen?"

"It would do wonders for my murderous streak not to be provoked anymore today by the idiocy of halfwits," breathed Negi with a spiteful hiss. God, how he wished he could have Round-Two with Takamichi T. Takahata already; if he could not pummel Konoemon Konoe into oblivion, then his former golden boy would just have to do, would he not? Heh heh heh heh... "Now. Name your price, shapeshifter."

The shaddy ermine assumed an oddly diffident pose, wagging his considerable tail hither and tither, "I figure, showin' her a good time'd be nice. Like, take her out wit' ya next time you go takin' names and pityin' fools, yea?"

"That sounds so...awfully, reasonable coming from a mercenary informant, I am left rather speechless."

"Man, didn't I say I'm her best friend in the world? ...Oh, but don't tell her we had this conversation; I'm still on the run from her 'cuz of the other night, an' last I looked over mah shoulda, she be seein' red an' out for blood. Mah blood...specifically. That ain't a good thing, mah man. Definitely, not good! So when she does calm down and introduce us, act like we neva-evah met before, until then, a'ight?"

"What are you talking about, and just who are you, little sir?"

"Heh he he heeh! And what do you get off on, crazy? Heh, Mister T pity the fool who don't got no nuffin' life, so scram!"

No disassembly was required to understand that what Mister T asked of him as a matter of fact, was to in effect take his dear Anya out on a date. Hmph. What a meddlesome friend Kommissar Anya has, not that he was anyone to talk himself, when it came to make others dance to his tune..

After all, The Doctor could use the extra pair of hands for what he has up to mind in the coming days. _Fu fu fu fu fu_!

* * *

Saturday could not have come soon enough. At last, Doctor N. Springfield was on the cusp of laying to rest the horrible week behind him, which in his opinion had been one catastrophe after another. Even the small gains he had made against Murphy failed to undo the damage that began the moment he had fallen off that infernal roof. True, his back was being much more agreeable with him now, but there was no rest to be had for the wicked, except on Sundays.

See, as part of his New Years resolution, Negi had made it a point that at least on the holy day of Sabbath he would take a brief respite from the act of dastardly mischief mismanaged. If he worked through Sunday, the boy professor imagined he could clear out just about all of his still idling workload. One of the priority items being to begin resolving his belated issues with Setsuna Sakurazaki, which he had to put on hold, due to health concerns.

Only a masochist of the uncanny valley kind would dare to face the infuriated Bushido-wannabe girl at less than a hundred percent. She had made appeals many a time already for a honorable duel to settle their lingering affairs once and for all, so there was little doubt that the event of such a confrontation would be anything but unpleasant. Hence, The Doctor had been taking care of housekeeping, while keeping his head low.

It was to much relief that he was able to deliver his report to The Dean, concerning the incident on Cherry Blossom Street, unmolested, both entering and exiting the conference. The old squirrel had not even mentioned Negi's altercation with his predecessor. Of course, The Doctor suspected Konoemon would bring up the incident later to guilt him into doing some unpleasant task, unless he wanted the cover story blown, which was presently being sold as a case of unbelievable clumsiness. Sadly, push comes to shove, Negi would rather not jeopardize his genial relationship, involving the bounciful Miss Shizuna Minamoto, along with his professional aura of superb excellence amongst the staff.

He had become a prisoner to his own image, which was why at present, the boy professor badly wanted to deck himself for his near infallible image. It was the morning, and as customary, Negi greeted his many fans and admirers on the way to homeroom, exchanging trite pleasantries like business cards, when **She **appeared, barring his path.

"Well, aren't you looking full of yourself, as always, _Mister _Negi Springfield?"

The Doctor halted in his steady march, recognizing the owner of the voice in an instant. He may have only heard that schadenfraude trill a handful of times, but once was more than enough to make him physically ill at her facetious honey.

"Ah, but where are my manners?" Evangeline A.K. MacDowell apologized in English, hamming up her wanton performance to the brink vulgarity. And the curtsy she then offered him, like icing on cake, almost made him wretch; clearly, there was the obscene, and then there was Eva. "Good morning, _Negi_-sensei."

Bystanders gaped and gasped at the sudden confrontation in their midst, springing away instinctively to give space for the aggrieved parties. They might not have understood the little blonde trollop fluently, but it did not take a genius to catch the disdain echoed in her speech. Unfortunately, the retreating movement now had effectively cemented the scene in place, leaving Negi exposed, dangerously so.

The last thing he wanted to do was unsheathe his bloodletting "sword" in front of so many witnesses. Thus, the boy professor had no choice but to stomach the foul smelling medicine, and smile despite his discomfort, "Ah, Miss MacDowell, and you too, Karakuri-san? How rare. Have you come to join your classmates today for a change?"

Chachamaru said nothing, not that Negi expected the android girl to speak for herself, when Evangeline was right there, manning the tiller, with the look of a mad man hell bent on ramming the enemy ship, even at the cost of his crew.

"Ah ha ha ha, that's funny, _sensei_; really~ funny! Maybe you should think about a career change to be a comedian, huh~?"

"Shame, and here I thought you had a change of heart about my classes."

"Oh, you're such a kidder, _sensei_. Didn't you know that class has been an afterthought for me, ever since you took charge? It's dull. Boring. And completely un-satis-fy~ing!"

Nobody missed the scandalous undertones of Evangeline's decry, her dialect having now switched to the common vernacular for the benefit of their growing audience. Many colored, some looked to him for some snappy response, a counterattack to her challenge, while others could care less and could only want for another thrilling word on bated breaths, riveted in their shoes. It was an awful brouhaha, and in private, The Doctor offered a measure of respect to his opponent's foresight in choosing a battleground to her advantage, and limiting his ability to formulate a response.

"_Fu fu fu fu_, so, you wouldn't mind if I skip class again today, ri~ght? Ha! And what could you do anyways to stop me? Huh? Detention? Ha! Get real! As a teacher, all you can do is be civil to me on school grounds, _Ne_~_gi_-sensei."

How frustrating that all he could do was smile and weather the shaming string of insults, his hands tied behind his back, while offering diffident platitudes. What Doctor N. would give for a weapon to stake his foe in the eye, for such blatant impudence, and as Lady Luck would have it then, he would get his wish, but not necessarily in the manner he specified.

"Well, well, who do we have here?" the new player, entering the fray, drawled in fastidious tones. "Is it my imagination, or have you, finally, crawled out of your moldy hidey-hole at the dumpster to show your sleazy face, _Miss _Evangeline A.K. MacDowell?"

Gasps of astonishment rose up from the spectators, as Negi himself was taken by surprise, a pair of lithe arms ensnaring one of his own, and drawing him close. But instead of pure gratefulness, her habitually precocious presence sent a complicated oily mix of relief and dread up his spine. He knew who she was, and the smoldering, apoplectic spasm that twisted Evangeline's bullying sneer into a grimacing snarl said all the vampire thought of the interloper.

Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova giggled coyly, snuggling up closer to his arm like some manner of dastardly minx. And Negi's palms, right on cue, began to itch. See, he was beginning to regret, somewhat, sharing his findings about the former Dark Mistress with his secretary. Having lived with him for the better of seven odd months, and withstood the sadism his goading affections that subtilized her acumen, Anya was not much different from an irascible bandog chaffing at the bit. She hungered for blood, and judging from her decisive first strike, today the Russian girl was going to get her pound of flesh straight from Evangeline's necrotic carcass.

If Augustus T. Coletrain were here, he would probably disport his fashionable witticism:

"I pity the fool."

Funny, Doctor N. Springfield could have sworn he heard someone say those very words just then, hidden somewhere amongst the crowd. Could that shaddy shapeshifting ermine-whatever informant actually be here, watching the event, as he thought? No. It could not be possible, such convenience was only the norm in a Japanese anime!

Well, anime, manga, or not, there was no stopping Kommissar Anya's Sword of Damocles any longer.

"A common, dirty urchin like you is still a thousand years too early to be calling _Onii_-san by his first name; get out of the way, **trash**!"

They say there is nothing quite like a woman scorned, but Negi believed the truism needed to be revised with an exception to the rule: namely, a woman scorning another woman puts all of Heaven to shame. Girls played for keeps, and would gladly sow the soil with salt, as their rivals went screaming into the writhing sea of flame. Again, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell's porcelain mask of egregious hauteur, already cracking under duress from the initial feint, shattered like Humpty Dumpty into a millionfold pieces.

That said, considering "The Charisma Break" subversion tactic has worked twice now, The Doctor had to wonder, if her hubris was the Dead Apostle's definitive Achilles' heel? It was an awfully convenient one, if such was the case. Although, taking into account her true nature as a creature of darkness, her overblown arrogance was hardly an issue when she had the power to back up her bark. Heh heh heh. Perhaps, he ought to reconsider how hard to lean on his bluffs come their inevitable reckoning, not that anything unforeseen could happen, right?

"J-Just, wh, who d-do y-y-you think you're talking to, YOU BRAT?" Evangeline spluttered profusely. Stripped of her mystique, she was no better than any sulky child at the playground, a fact her audience would soon realize. "You'd better watch your-"

It was also an opportunity that Anya mercilessly persecuted, like a snarling wolf suffocating its prey to death, jaws clamped around the jugular, blood spraying on the virgin white snow.

"Funny, you'd say that; I only see one frumpy-haired hussy making a gross mess of things around here. And my nose tells me, _sniff_, the criminal in question **must **be you. Yes, by that reasoning, this much is elementary to me, The Detective, Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova-sama. What do you think, everyone?"

Now, the unthinking sheep understood the nature of the contest, and could not help but throw their heads back, bellowing laughter. Alas, the available time for the chess match was also over, as the bell for homeroom began to toll, dispersing the impromptu gathering en masse in a flutter of flighty, sheepish giggles.

"Nnnn, nnn...! nnn-NYAAAAAARGHHHHhhh! Gah, guh, GAM~MIT! I, I'LL REMEMBER THIS! Let's go, Chachamaru!"

"As you wish, _Ojou_-sama. _Sensei_, and to you as well, Cocolova-san: good day," so did Chachamaru Karakuri fulfill her appointed role, diligently drawing down the curtains to the stage, with a bow. The two "delinquents" soon melted away in the throng of bodies.

How beautiful. Truly a magnificent play. Poignant. Oh, Doctor N. Springfield, PhD., was moved beyond words that in such a short amount of time another had come to grasp a measure of his greatness! Always he had been the man behind the trigger, since The Master had sent him away, and Negi forgot the pure joy of being a blackheart.

...except why did he feel a faint hint of worry at having corrupted young Little Big Red so? Indeed, the electric itch in his palms had yet to subside, and speaking of Anya... OH. MY. GOSH.

There he was, his pupils dilated at the form of the fierce and precocious Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova. Still clinging to his arm, she wore, quite possibly, the most perversely dreamy expression he had ever seen on her quivering face that spoke of pure unadulterated, narcissistic ecstasy.

"Come on, Stupid Onion," the Russian girl suspired at him in a manic pitch, madness self-evident in the eerie haze in her eyes, "you have a class to teach, don't you, _professor_?"

In the hallowed realm of his darkest recesses, Doctor N. Springfield felt positively, absolutely, point of no return...**violated**. He had created a monster, a bonafide crazy thing, and now that abominable beastgirl was molesting his arm! Filthy. Lusty. Unclean! Ha ha ha ha ha. Ooooohhhh, Master, your apprentice has been forever tainted!

But, it was not as if this manner of development was beyond his projections now, was it? The Doctor smiled and reached over with his free hand, running the silky curve of her jawline with his forefingers. "Dearest cousin, I could kiss you right now, but! I have a better proposition in mind."

The effect was instantaneous, and all the proof he required to sign his theory into law.

"Wha, wh, wh, WHAT?" stuttered Anastasia, utterly flabbergasted by the rouge now coloring her from the brow all the way down to the nape of her neck. She regained enough of her mental faculties to even recall that she was still intimately attached to one of his limbs. "Egads!"

He caught her by the hand before the Russian could effect her getaway. His glasses gleamed, barring any hope of escape, much to the girl's evident discomfort, as Negi's chestnut-hued eyes took on a predatory glint. He knew for a fact how badly she loathed him whenever his dominating nature exerted itself. Verily indeed, Anya's spirited reactions allowed the experiment to proceed well within acceptable parameters, namely never boring him in the slightest. The sudden explosion of data had been frightening, but nothing he could not handle once he put the stimuli into perspective.

After all, it would be disappointing to the extreme had his adorable poison pink polka dot chihuahua gone rampant under his care.

"Come with me after classes, and you will find out, eheheheh."

Where in the world would he ever find another like his dearest Kommissar Anya? She was certifiably one-of-a-kind. As for his proposition to her, well, Anya did not disappoint, coming out of her corner swinging.

"So you were planning to stalk them for the rest of the day?" the redheaded Ruskie glowered at him scathingly. "THAT's your brilliant proposal that had me running like a fool on some hamster wheel, brother dearest?"

"And who am I to despoil your wild flights of fancy, my beloved baby cousin?" he drawled back, enjoying the normalcy of their customary badinage. "Rightly so, I am heartless, but it does not necessarily equate that I, too, am soulless."

Anya could not say much else but growl disagreeably at him, like a mastiff that had ran afoul of its own chain, thanks to the quick wit of a cunning foe. Never mind, they owed quite a bit to Negi's frustratingly skillful gift of gab, or else, their venture would still be bogged down back at the classroom, rather than out here, enjoying an idyllic afternoon. The experience, however, was anything but leisurely in reality.

Presently, the two mages waited patiently for their quarry to emerge from the traditional Japanese-styled tea house, under the guise of minor spells of illusory misdirection and silence that would deter unwanted attention. After all, they would appear too conspicuous otherwise in public, idling along a verdant back road with nary a bench in sight. The area secluded in bamboo trees on purpose, so as to not disturb the Tea Ceremony Club's monopoly on stylish tranquility.

Why they were here was simply a matter of The Doctor acting upon the intelligence provided recently by Kazumi Asakura's dossier. His own student handbook always had the clues, but the paparazzi girl gave the last set of nails he needed to confirm his suspicions. Evangeline A.K. MacDowell was an absolutely avid tea drinker, and would loathe to ever miss a function. It was her habits that Negi was counting on for the first phase of his operation to bear fruit, and he was not disappointed.

"There she blows, and oh, look, whose with her too?" he remarked conspiratorially to his partner from their observation point, down wind from the quaint tea house.

"Ugh, I should be glad that they're so atypical," Anastasia wrinkled her nose at the sight of the two "ruffians" exchanging farewell protocols with members of the club. From here, they looked almost like ordinary schoolgirls, but appearances, alas, were classically deceiving. "But does a robot really have to go to a Tea Ceremony Club?"

"An engineer would tell you, nay, and a doll meight would tell you, absolutely yes. Mechanical precision is one thing, but to err...is human, do you not agree, cousin? And she is not just a robot, dear; Karakuri-kun is an android, a noble doll made in the image of yourself and myself."

"_Rrrrrr_, stow your romance, Stupid Onion. I have dealt with crimes of passion before, and there is no changing the fact that a crime is a crime. Someone suffered because of someone else's selfishness, and no amount of flowery words is going to make it any easier to stomach."

"Fair enough, dear. I look forward to having another conversation like so in say, six years time? _Fu fu fu fu fu_. I hope you do not disappoint, after having made me wait for so long to have my cake."

"Id, id, ID-iot!" his dear Anya reddened, clearly misunderstanding the subtleties of Negi's words for something more than he meant. "Wh, what, just what do you think you're talking about to a girl?"

Not that I had any higher expectations to begin with, or else it would not be any fun for me, thought the boy professor tartly. "The only naughty one here, is you, dearest."

"A, Am not!"

"For the record, I am unpleasantly scandalized by the unusual number of rapacious nymphs around these here parts, who are utterly besotted with me. If you have plans to make myself your property, please, do kindly make a reservation in advance, so I have my lawyers ready to witness the barbarism of the entire salacious event."

"_Rrrghhh_! L, Like hell, you misogynistic bastard!" dearest Anya growled out another delusion that he was all too happy to correct.

"You have my image reversed, much beloved baby cousin. I am the quintessential philogynist, or else I would have lost heart long ago for having such an uncultured shrew of a precocious tomboy as my cousin. Truly, our bloodline is doomed, unless I manage to groom you into the fabled Aphrodite, who makes all men and womenfolk alike her slaves. Now, do follow my lead, Guildenstern and Rosencrantz are shoving off."

Offering one more bow for posterity's sake, Chachamaru then turned about face, with parade ground precision, tracing the "C" and easing around to follow the pint-sized Dead Apostle down the stone path leading away from the tea house. Freed from their obligation, the rest of the girls, who comprised the club retired inside, so they never saw the intriguing development waiting for their seniors. A face even caused Negi to give pause, and halt his companion from displacing out of their relative concealment.

Anastasia made to bristle, but a curt glance to direct her line of sight towards the most curious event, swiftly redirected her energies in a more productive light, "What the? What's that man doing here?"

"I agree," The Doctor nodded, thumbing his chin thoughtfully. "What business would Takahata T. Takamichi-sensei have with one of my students?"

"Tsk. I wish they were closer so we could hear them! Should've cast my favorite spell for eavesdropping earlier, and... Ah, rats! It looks like they're going to split up. What should we do?"

"Ignore MacDowell and...**him**. I was only interested in Karakuri Chachamaru from the start."

Suffice to say, the magistra magi did not take kindly to his seemingly nonchalant disinterest, and had no qualms about voicing her dumbfounded outrage.

"Wha? B, But this stinks of a scandal, if not a rotten conspiracy at the highest levels, you fool! Think. Why in the world would one of the Headmaster's closest aides be doing this? He should know the truth, shouldn't he?"

But from his objective standpoint, well, Negi did not see at all what the big deal was. Such power plays were within the realm of possibility in his darkest suspicions, always, so to see Takahata-sensei in cahoots, evidently, did not bother him terribly. Oh no, Doctor N. Springfield was royally pissed off, and wished to Satan he had ripped the old squirrel of a dean a new one for this travesty of a game he was being to play a part in!

Ah, but his adorable poison pink polka dot chihuahua was here, so it would not do to show her just how angry he could work himself up to, could he now? thought the magister magi with a thin smile. "And what should he know, my dear?"

"Stupid onion, Takahata's a mage, and a living legend at that! He rode with The Thousand Master's band, The Crimson Wings, during the Great War, and he's the top security advisor on Konoemon Konoe's staff here at Mahora Academy! Of course, the man should know what Evangeline MacDowell really is!"

"Funny how no one ever told me those most delectable morsels of information, until you did that is, and for a legend... He was pretty wimpy."

"Wha...EEHHHHhhh!"

"Can you not see all that gauze around his face covering his bruises? I did **that **to him, a vaunted living legend of the Wizarding World."

"Y, you beat up Takahata of The Crimson Wings with your bare hands?" Anastasia cried at him incredulously. Takamichi T. Takahata was said to be a master martial artist, in spite of his less than stellar ability as a wizard. How in Terra did an upstart like the Onion managed to best him?

"Well, it was not terribly fair for him, since I did spring on him by surprise. **Heh**. Guess I am quite the accomplished pugilist now, am I not?"

Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova, barely, just barely, held back the urge to weep. Why had she expected more from the prince of dastardliness himself, Negi Springfield? It would have been totally out of character for him to face any opponent under honorable grounds, without some kind of vicious advantage swinging in his favor.

Nevertheless, she had to vent her exasperation, lest she spontaneously combust from the shame of associating herself with such a devil. "Wha? Hweh? That's not-WHAT!"

"Cognitive dissonance is dangerous, An~ya~," the boy professor clicked his tongue, "and the last thing I want is for you to meet an early demise by way of an aneurism to your brain. Just wag your adorable tails and follow my lead, savvy?"

Oh, she followed all right, powerless to resist the call of his mad pied piper's song, and if Little Big Red did not follow, how would she slay The Mad Hatter? Anastasia only prayed there would be enough of her sanity left to make the event memorable, or else, she would just end up transforming into the howling mad man himself at the end of the day. As for what delightful development awaited them next, the complete triviality of Chachamaru Karakuri's stroll proved to be quite perplexing: first a trip to the convenience store, before going about her business to perform...good deeds.

"Did she just open up rocket jets, hidden in her back and feet, to grab a crying kindergartner's balloon out of a tree?" Anastasia deadpanned, raising a sporadically twitching brow at the fiendishly noble sight.

Negi agreed with her assessment. "I do say, it appears to be so, my dear."

"Oh, look here come some more brats. These one seems to know her, and... She's helping an old lady cross the street, even going out of the way to obey the skywalk."

"That she is."

"Those kids make it sound like this a regular occurrence too..."

"Food for thought, do you not agree?" Negi hazarded for conversation's sake, but it did not satisfy Anya in the slightest. In fact, his neutrality annoyed the hell out of her!

"**Hey**," the Ruskie girl said loudly, making her displeasure at the turn of event crystal clear. "How come nobody noticed she isn't human? And if they have, why aren't any of these civilians bringing up the fact?"

"When ignorance is bliss, then to be wise is folly, no?"

"Over my dead body it is!"

"Ha ha ha ha. But to be frank, she is quite skillful at endearing herself to humans, I must say."

"How stupid can these morons be to... Bah!"

"Oh, do not be such a downer, cousin. Everyone would wish for a kind, diligent doll such as Karakuri-san for a playmate once in his or her lifetime. You mark my words."

"Right, and I'm... Hey!" Anastasia spluttered, woken from her disgruntled brooding by the splash of water carrying to her ears. "Look at... What in the? S, She's wading into the drainage river! Is she out of her mind?"

"Well, there is a life at stake, no matter how small it might be," Negi pointed to the source of mewling cries, stranded in the middle of the river flow, whose plight had caused quite a number of spectators to gather.

But it was not empathy The Doctor wished to give to these mournful humans, he only had his contempt. After all, the architects of this spectacle were standing right there, those weak, self-serving creatures on the bridge, seemingly powerless to do anything for the victim down below. Hmph. Such empty-headed people they were; if any of them had wished sincerely to save the pitiful creature trapped in the river below, they could have done so long ago, instead of raising a messy brouhaha.

How fortunate his adorable Anya was still too young to appreciate the black humor of the situation, judging by her surprise, "A, a kitten! In a box? But, how?"

"She is rather heavy, is she not?" Negi grinned wryly.

"Is now really an appropriate time to be speculating on her weight? You jerk!"

"Actually, I beg to differ, as this is tactically relevant knowledge to have right here. Do you not see how she is not noticeably struggling against the drainage river's rapid flow? It might be only waist deep for her, but your average human would be inconvenienced considerably so. Also, Karakuri-san is not shorting out, despite being partially submerged, so her water proofing seals appear to be holding well within acceptable tolerances."

"Ah. I...I see your points."

"For a third rate doll, her meister might not be a total hack, after all, considering how swiftly my opinions have changed. Now, if we could only do something about her aesthetically displeasing chassis..."

There was something odd about the way he spoke, and invariably, Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova found herself plagued with a question.

"Springfield."

"Yes?"

"You're not going to...wreck her, are you?"

"The thought has crossed my mind," Negi answered her, plainly. "Isolated as she is, Karakuri would be easy pickings between the two of us."

It was horrifying to hear, the honesty of his intentions.

"H, Hey! I-I...I only brought my wand with me, and neither of us have Ministra Ma-"

"Unnecessary. I can hold my own in a matter of fisticuffs, and with you supporting me, the odds are heavily in our favor. Besides, we have sparred before, have we not? Last I saw, you are no push over in a pinch, regardless of your petite nature."

"I don't know whether I should feel ill or gratified, but... Springfield. That Karakuri girl is the toast of the town! I... Don't we need more evidence before-"

"She is the lackey of our enemy. If Karakuri-san proves unreceptive to reason, I have no qualms with ripping her from limb to limb."

"B, But that's-" Anya protested, in spite of the losing battle. She... She just did not want to lose! It was not as if she cared about the stupid robot doll, did she? Preposterous!

"Barbaric?" Negi sniffed, bemused by his secretary's sudden symptoms of cold feet. How unexpectedly naive of her, but he did not dislike such contradictions coming from the magistra magi, in particular. "It would hardly kill her. As long as the present data in her memory banks survive alongside an up to date back up of Karakuri Chachamaru's personality layer, she will be good as new upon reactivation in any acceptable body."

"...Tsk."

Oh no, it only made her more...interesting to him.

"Feeling romantic now, my dearest baby cousin? Has your sense of justice wavered already?"

"We'd better not fight her, here, today, you understand? There isn't sufficient evidence yet to justify our actions."

"I can't do it. Wh, why is she such a good...p, person? This can't be real! It's like a rose-tinted scene out from those Japanese comics that the Narutaki twins have been feeding me."

"Oh, finally acting your age are you, Miss Cocolova?"

"Sh, Shut it! You're not one to talk...Stupid Onion."

"Then let us go interview her in person, shall we?"

Anastasia agreed not because she wanted to, but because the redhead felt she could not afford to look any more soft-hearted than she already gave away foolishly. Her true target was a blackhearted beast, who enjoyed most of all testing the tender weak points of his prey. Little Big Red could ill afford to spoil anymore of her cards before the day of their reckoning cometh, but in the meantime, she gladly followed the pleasant wind carrying the tolls of the early evening bell chimes to quite the peculiar sight.

"Well, there is our explanation for your trip to the convenience store: cat food," Negi noted wryly, announcing their presence at the threshold of the warm, mewling bundle of agape.

Chachamaru was feeding some stray cats, plenty to go around that even the new kitten she had rescued earlier was welcomed by the older frolicking felines.

"Good afternoon, Springfield-sensei, and Cocolova-san, as well. To what do I owe the honor for this occasion?"

Anastasia could scarcely believe how well the android girl was taking their unexpected intrusion in stride. Had it been her on the receiving end of such unwanted interlopers, she would have blown her top in fury. As it stood, well, she would rather have Negi Springfield handle things, until the Ruskie girl could reboot her mental faculties.

"Oh, fear not, this whole event is entirely informal, although if you do not mind me asking, are those your cats?"

"No, they are not, but the local animal shelter has been notified by me of their presence, and all of these surviving individuals in the colony have been properly vaccinated and treated as required by law. I am merely fulfilling my duties as a volunteer, by continuing to care for and feed them, depending on my schedule."

The Doctor had to raise a brow at how casually his delinquent pupil dismissed any sentimental connection she had to these furry creatures, who clearly doted on her. **Ha**. If she did not care at all, then why did Karakuri wear the glimmer of a wane smile on her reserved complexion, hmm? It smacked of hypocrisy, a classical ailment of the human condition. Her personality matrix appeared to be much more advanced than he first anticipated; not too shabby, for a third-rate doll.

"Please, allow me to speak: might I ask what brings you here?"

"Humor me, Karakuri-kun. Humor me."

"Is that how it is? Hmm. Can you wait a few moments? They will finish feeding soon."

Another breeze blew by, this one carrying a dazzling flurry of pink petals, probably from some late bloomers, but such trifling aesthetic concerned the panicked thoughts of Kommissar Anya. The atmosphere had changed, right under her nose, in no more than a handful of words between the insufferable Springfield and the stoic android. Moreover, it had not changed for the better, but the worst!

"Good, the little ones have gone home," said Chachamaru, before she began to pick up and dispose of the trash. "Another moment please, if you don't mind waiting, _sensei_."

The reported English gentleman's lips compressed into a frosty line that pulled apart oddly enough into a disturbing leer. It was a wholly unexpected side of him. He...! He could not be serious about fighting the witless girl all of a sudden, could he?

"Now, _sensei_, Cocolova-san," she bowed to each of them deeply, "whenever you are a ready, feel free to come at me how ever you wish."

Anastasia could not bear the tension anymore; she had to act, "Wa, wait, wait! Don't misunderstand. W, we didn't come to talk, I mean, we did come to talk, argh...no, rrrghhh!"

"Ha ha ha ha, please excuse my partner-in-crime's dishonesty, Karakuri-kun. She has a hard time being honest with her softer side."

"_Rrrghh_, don't get in my way, you! Argh, l, listen! This. This is, um, gathering evidence. Q, Questioning the suspects for a confession, I tell you! N, Nothing more, you hear me?"

"Ergo, Exhibit A," the offending bespectacled boy sniped at her again, causing Little Big Red to bristle at his seeming thoughtlessness.

"Observations: I detect no duplicity in your demeanor. Heart rate. Eye movement. Posture. Vocalization. All appear to be normal. Hmm. Satisfactory. A moment please, standing down from combat patterns..."

But everything was turning out just fine, huh?

"I humbly entreat you to forgive my rudeness, but be aware I am not at liberty to disclose all you may desire."

"Sounds fair enough; I accept."

Anastasia wondered, if everything had been her own melodramatic delusion from the start? She had been so certain of it, and yet, here Springfield and Chachamaru were civilly speaking with one another, despite of the brink they had come to mere seconds ago.

"Understood. Now, how may I assist you?" the neon-haired android asked the smiling bespectacled teen.

But who cares if she was addressing him, first? I'm the one who defused this mess! thought Anastasia, flooring her metaphorical accelerator pedal to stampede right over Negi Springfield. "What're you doing by MacDowell's side, Karakuri Chachamaru? Can't you tell that..._girl _is nothing but bad news for everyone? How could you let her attack her classmates?"

Chachamaru being Chachamaru, she self-evidently did not mind who took charge, as long as any individual assumed the responsibility of liaising with her.

"Please, allow me to speak: though I empathize, Karakuri Chachamaru has never endorsed the questionable methods of her mistress, The Dark Evangel."

It was quite the controversial statement to make, but she was not close to finished.

"Even so, I will stand with her; my mistress has been cheated, _betrayed_, and the reckoning is coming, Springfield-sensei. Are you prepared to stand against us? Can you bare the weight of the sins flowing in your veins?"

The air cooled, blisteringly so, but he did not bat even an eyelash. Doctor N. Springfield devoured her loaded words whole, like a glutton to an all-you-can-eat buffet. They were surprisingly impassioned, despite being spoken at a clipped monotone. Will wonders with Karakuri Chachamaru ever cease? Well, the magister magi hoped not, or else he would be a very bored young man shortly hereafter.

"_Ku ku ku ku_, to be frank, I barely have a clue of what you are alluding to, but if you are not privileged to say more, than I think it cannot be helped. More imperatively, however, it appears diplomacy was impossible since the beginning, unless your resolve is just that, a cheap bluff?"

Chachamaru's proof was simple and to the point, "If something unforeseeably sordid were to happen, would you kindly take care of my cats, _sensei_?"

"Pffftttt! What an egregiously rotten thing to say. Tripping your bloody loser flags already, before you have even issued me a formal letter of challenge? Eheheheh! As you wish, you loathsome girl, I will acknowledge your cool, iron resolve! Come along, An~ya, we are done here for the day."

And The Doctor threw his head back, merrily crowing with laughter all the way, as he departed with an openly bewildered Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova. Her limited command of words could not begin to describe the ridiculous theatrical exchange she had been unlucky enough to experience, first hand. Ordinary people would have never bothered with such useless sentiments, and disposed of their rivals, cleanly and discreetly, before the authorities were the wiser. Yet, it was true that here she was, having lived through a moment that could have only been inspired by a Japanese comic.

_Arrrggghhh_...she could not believe it!

That said, the other party who played a hand in this grand drama, the last one left standing, Chachamaru Karakuri watched them go, without protest, waiting to draw down the curtains, as always. Thus, no one, including the young android herself, would ever know that her lips had drawn back into a wistful smile.

"Negi-sensei. Negi Springfield... Let it be known that Karakuri Chachamaru's thoughts of you has changed. You're not such a bad gentleman, are you? ...Thank you."

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Ugh. Drained again. It's 0208. Another one bites the dust, and I have to get the next episode out by Friday, before I leave for two weeks to head down to North Carolina. Good grief, I am going to be all ashes by the time this last breathless sprint is over.

As for this episode, well, there is a lot of interesting stuff here. Lots. Reading between the lines will really help you all get some serious extra mileage out of this episode. Eva tries to strike back but is beaten down by a totally unexpected contender. In fact, this is probably the most amount of screen time Anya and The Doctor have had in...ages! Gosh. The little star of the episode, though, is probably Chachamaru. Very interesting, y'know?

Oh, and I pity the fool who forgot about Mister T.

Anyways, pray for me, fellas, to deliver your next update within this short time limit. Maybe I can do something when I'm down in North Carolina for training, but I kinda need a lot of time and privacy to myself to get this sort of thing done, y'know? Worst case scenario, we're going on hiatus for two weeks. ...Nobody better go check themselves into a mental asylum, while I'm gone, you hear?

Peace.


	17. Chapter 17

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 17:

Let the Dice Roll and Fall Where They May...I Think

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

There was not a day in the past eighteen years of her incarceration, including now, that Evangeline A.K. MacDowell did not wonder what the hell she was doing here. Just to begin, every time she woke up in the morning from a damnable night terror; every time she would gaze out beneath an azure sky into the infinite, thinking of **Him**. Every carefree day the Dark Evangel spent here, sipping tea to block out the drone of the dull blood packs that supplied her repast, and she would imagine what it would be like to burn down the entire place. Indeed, the hellish spectacle would have to include the ocean and all, in a fiendish sea of fire, fit for the likes of Hell, just to show how much she had grown to despise **Him**.

But even then, Evangeline would take it all back, make everything disappear in a flash of snow flakes, if He would answer her selfish wish, entreated so long ago that the events seemed like a dream to her. Dream or not, it had been a pleasant tragedy, much better than the tiresome purgatory she endured now. The sands of her sentence had been grinding away at her already threadbare sanity for a nigh two decades, quite frankly, The Dark Evangel had had it with this backwater bunghole.

Her last and best hope at freedom had come out of nowhere, and Evangeline would be damned, if she did not fight with fang and claws to get what she wanted. Never again will she suffer the capriciousness of mortals, and their shortsighted hearts. Indeed, as a tribute to Him and the entire world, the former Dark Mistress would see the prison called "Mahora Academy" extinguished from the face of the earth.

And let the act be known far and wide, engraved into the hearts of sobbing millions, as her declaration of war against Nagi Springfield, liar, oath-breaker, the lowest of all scum who walk beneath the rays of the sun!

Regrettably, it was not time, yet; Evangeline needed to bide her glorious return to tyranny, just a little longer. True, to be defeated by His imposter not once, but twice over, had wounded her ego terribly. However, the vampire was made of sterner stuff than to let a handful of setbacks crush her spirit. There were many ways, after all, to achieve greatness, and in The Dark Evangel's case, she admittedly rose to prominence by shear stubbornness.

Hence, the fair-haired minx plotted the downfall of her hated enemies even now, while downplaying her intentions before a man, whom likely could end her misery, with an unsavory look.

"Eva-san, whatever mischief it is you're up to I implore you to think it over," said Takamichi T. Takahata blithely, as he ran a hand through his hair. "It's always been my feeling that someone of your caliber should be setting a good example for your juniors and colleagues to draw inspiration from, instead of fooling around like a rascal with not even a tenth of your experiences."

"Why, what on Earth, could you ever be suggesting, Takamichi-kun?" Eva drawled back, her sarcasm carrying up to the shadowy eaves of the secluded arbor her interrogator had chosen. "I'll have you know I've played no part-"

"Eva. We know. The Dean has always known, and as a concession, we've been turning a blind eye to your indulgences on purpose. Whatever you've got in mind for us a surprise? Forget about it. You can go make an appeal to Konoe-dono himself, if you like, but getting Konoka-chan involved, intentionally or not, has changed the rules of the game."

"The rules~? Whose rules do you mean, Death Glasses?"

"**Our **rules, Eva. Whatever pieces you've appropriate for yourself up until now? That's it. That's all you're allowed to use when you go to fight Springfield-kun, and I wish you the best of luck. My bruises aren't just for you show, you see?"

The smiling man gestured fondly to the rolls of gauze littering his complex that some women were rumored to find ravishingly handsome. Frankly, Takamichi only annoyed the piss out of Evangeline, but nowhere near a certain "pretty man", who frequented the area. Now, HE was a man she would enjoy grinding into a servile blob of shivering flesh in shackles and leather, beneath her stiletto heels.

Nevertheless, to see one of His companions beaten by a foe was an uncommon sight that shocked the former Dark Mistress agape.

"What!"

"The runt got me good," Takamichi laughed, grinning sheepishly like some empty-headed fool. "Shows what a moron I was to underestimate him, although I'd like to know why he had to beat the tar out of me in the first place. It's not like I've done anything awful to him, have I?"

I think he'd beg to differ, stupid Takamichi, thought Evangeline with a disagreeable knit of her brows.

"And if you didn't catch it, we've always known you've been up to no good, Eva-san. But this? This is just a friendly warning. We are not obligated to stop you in this case, since, well, The Dean wants to see who wins in this coming contest. Me, personally? I think you should've been punished a while ago, but this'll do just as well. No offense."

The Dark Evangel was unimpressed to say the least, "Hmph! You think your boy, Springfield the Impostor, can beat me when I get serious?"

"Well... Eva," Takamichi took a moment's care to choose his words carefully, as he digested her incendiary statement. So, she thought of the boy as a fake, did she? Well, the bespectacled man imagined his wizened raccoon of a boss would be very interested in what insights those words entailed, once he reported back. "Considering he's even managed to groom Cocolova-san into being able to tell you off? Yes, I do. But when I happen to decide to collect on what **he **owes me, I'll make sure to learn from your mistakes, all right?"

"Kuh! G, Get out of my sight! You. YOU! ...I'll be sure to make you regret not siding on me, when I've freed myself, Mister Takamich T. Takahata!"

"Ha ha ha! There, there," and in an unexpected move, which the little vampire bristled under, Takamichi boldly reached forward to pat her on the head. "That's the spirit, Eva. Give it your all, and come back to tell me all your tall stories about it at our next get together with you-know-who, okay?"

"And what if I don't feel like living up to your expect-"

Now, when it came to dealing with the fairer sex, he had always been a bit slow on the uptake. And yes, Takamichi T. Takahata would acknowledge his deceptively youthful companion as a woman, for he would be a fool to think otherwise. It was a fact Evangeline A.K. MacDowell was more than old enough to be his mother, so he might as well accept the harsh reality. Had she been at full strength, the dark lady could foreseeably kill him several times over, and not for a lack of trying either.

Intimidation was a wasted effort against her, due to the absurd power requirements involved, but a mutual friend of his had the right idea, evidently so: charm. All it took to derail the great Dark Evangel was a finger pressed to her lips.

"Is that enough of a reminder, Miss Evangeline A.K. MacDowell?"

Immediately, Evangeline sprang away, as if burned, spitting and coloring incoherently in indignation and shame at the audacity of his act.

"Fuwha! Blegh! Ick! Pha-tooey! Yuck! DIS-GUSTING!"

"I'm sure it's nothing a little antibacterial soap won't solve."

"Taka-michi T. Taka-hata. ...I'LL REMEMBER THIS!" she eyed him with a blistering glower that threatened to set fire to his hair and the surrounding bamboo trees along this particular secluded spoor of verdant green.

As it stood, Evangeline did an excellent job of giving him a scathing sunburn, judging by how he felt the heat reddening in the nape of his neck and ears. In a way, Takimichi felt he would miss these conversations should something happen to change the status quo.

"Then I suppose you'll remember me having said it before, but I'll say it again: I think, Nagi-sanliked you, Eva. Then again, he was the kind of tiring guy, who liked just about everyone. And I'd hate to use my fists against someone he would've been happy to call _nakama_."

Her ire blackened in a heartbeat, just going to show that Eva really hadn't let go of her obsession over The Thousand Master.

"Shut up! Don't TALK like you know anything. Don't say. Another. Word. You worm!"

Maybe the Springfield boy could do the impossible and finally air out that stale head of hers. If he could not manage such a feat, then Takamichi imagined only the reckless man who started this entire mess could undo the knot that was slowly, but surely driving The Dark Evangel to the border of madness. Knowing their rotten luck, Evangeline would be irreparably unsalvageable by the time any trace of Nagi Springfield resurfaced from where ever he went in the first place. What an awful fellow he was going off somewhere without telling anyone where he was going or how long he would be away.

Hadn't he been taught better than to forsake his promises, especially to girls?

"_Yare yare_, I guess, we're done for the day. Take care, Eva-san. That Springfield runt... If **that **was his idea of being gentle the first time he fought you, I worry if we'll have enough blood packs to revive you, after all this has come to a head."

"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! You mangy, eye sore. Just. Leave me. ALONE!"

**Ugh**. What a hopeless guy.

* * *

Elsewhere, Doctor N. Springfield was a man on a manic mission, running on a threadbare wire to accomplish it. The next lunar event was fast approaching, and he could not be bothered to wait any longer to settle his debts with Evangeline A.K. MacDowell. Within the coming week, everything would come full circle, but until then he needed to do all that was humanly possible to prepare his concert. Verily, the magister magi swore that his coming "Midnight Carnival" would be a stupendous spectacle forever seared into the Dead Apostle's forsaken soul, which was why he required the assistance of the best contractors available.

"Heh he he heeh, my man!" chuckled a familiar shapeshifter, dressed today in the furs of a cheetah. "I knew ya'd be back. Bros and sistahs can't have 'nuff of Mister T when they see what Mister T can do for 'em, sho' 'nuff."

How in the world the presence of a famed big cats from Serengeti plains had escaped notice by the authorities was a phenomenon Negi would entertain another day. Never mind Augustus T. Coletrain's fascination with too much jewelry and a questionably prodigious mohawk to match his assortment of tribal tattoo, should have massively detrimental affected his ability to effect stealth, logically speaking. Right now, he needed the manthing's knowledge because his own employer could not be trusted to give him a straight answer.

...although Negi would like to know just when in the hell did the shady informant add himself to his list of contacts on his cellphone's address book, making it possible to arrange a meeting here, in broad daylight at a bustling outdoor cafe on Sunday. It was, a most bizarre sight, to be having a conversation with a cheetah, while surrounded by other customers who did not pay attention to their presence in the slightest, to say the least. But now was not the time to concern himself with such headaches, when there was much work to be done.

"I want you to refer me to some other private security consultants in the area. I require the extra labor to expedite preparations for our mutual friend's bash, and I imagine such a request should be well within your powers as an informant, yes? I do not mind terribly if they are or were on The Dean's payroll, for I assume you will refer me only to the best professionals who understand the value of client of confidentiality, are we clear?"

"Gettin' serious 'bout dat Eva, are ya? Coo', coo', Mister T can respect that, sum noble sumthin' or another. What kind help you need?"

"A trapper," said The Doctor plainly, taking a sip from his iced chai," preferably an experienced individual who can make things appear as if, and not as what they are truly."

"Mister T's got a smackin' you-know-what ninja sistah on my speed dial list. That work for ya, mah man?"

"Is she competent?"

"Hey, hey, I say no nothin' 'bout her bein' just eye candy, teach! She'll school you just fine in the whole tactical espion-what-ever action, but if you need a pactio partner, well, let Mister T say, ya probably won't be bored. Heh he he heeh! Might even have enough kids to make yo' own basketball crew, word? Heh he he heeh!"

Negi made a face. "I have no interest in naive, weaklings, Mister T. Pactio partners are a waste of time, which is especially true for the sake of convenience. The mage who relies on such seconds to fight his or her battles are only made the weaker for them by neglecting their own training."

"Day-mn, that's pretty harsh, mah man, but it's also just like ya, ain't it?" but even such harsh conviction could not damper the shady informant's cheery spirit for long. "Heh he he heeh. I sure do feel sorry for the world o' women out there, not that Mister T be sayin' you'd be playin' for the other team, ya dig?"

"Hmph. Is this bimbo of yours worth the effort?"

"Mister T stands by his guarantee of Ab-solut satisfaction, mah man, and the goin'-rate this time's perfect on your wallet too."

"That is?"

"Make sure, my girl, Miss Cocolova, gets a star role for the main event, teach. Here's her contact number for this week an' the up to date VIP password. Oh, an' good luck with lil' E-E, word? Ya'd better not, absolutely not come back to haunt Mister T, ya crazy thing, 'cuz I be scurred of ghosts! Heh he he heeh!"

If he had a choice in the matter, Doctor N. Springfield would pick a much more interesting person to haunt, preferably of the lissom and bounciful variety, too. It would be beyond awful, if the magister magi had to spend the rest of eternity stuck with a shady shapeshifting ermine, who liked to play Cupid for his acquaintances in his spare time. Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova, in his not so humble opinion, needed much better companions.

How fortunate she had him looking out in the best interests of her welfare, no? Eheheheheheh!

* * *

_Riii_~ng! _Riii_~ng!

Click.

"Hello-hello, this is X.Y.Z. speaking~! And what will it be today, honored customer?"

"Magic trick? Costume? Robot? Cosplay contest winner? Hologram? Dream? Illusion? Hallucination? Trickery? The correct answer is: shadow play."

"_Fuwhaaa_~! This voice. It couldn't be, could it?"

"I should be saying those words, _Miss _X.Y.Z."

"_Nin_, _nin_, _nin_. _Sensei_~, _sessha_, you know, thinks you need to take it easy sometimes, too, in our funny occultic business. Like a _pin-pon_! kind of feeling, too much stress is bad for your blood pressure, _ne_?

"Then my proposal should be a perfect compromise for the both of us. How proficient are you at the planning and execution of traps in a series?"

"Ha ha ha. Oh, _sensei_! Why would you need to know that from _sessha_?"

"Because, my humble pupil, as I have learned from a friend of mine, the Russians say, '_God keeps those safe who keep themselves safe_'. I have a private bash coming up just for myself and a mutual close friend, and as the mad dog playing host here, a hundred leagues is not a terribly long detour. I want the occasion to be...unforgettable. Savvy?"

"_Nin_, _nin_! Sounds interesting, _sensei_, but your humble pupil won't bring any materials~! That costs extra, and even for you, I can't offer too big of a first time discount. It'd be bad for my reputation, y'know?"

"When you see what I have prepared in my inventory, I think, you will be disappointed not to bring your own fireworks to the party too, Nagase Kaede-kun. I shall see you in the evening. Good day."

_Click_-clack.

* * *

The culling was fast approaching, and even at the feverish pace he strode onward, Doctor N. Springfield feared the worst. Could he make it in time? Would everything go as planned? Was he even up to the monumental task of putting to rights an ancient megalomaniac on the scale of Evangeline A.K. MacDowell? For as long as he remembered, The Apprentice had always followed The Master's shadow, but in his fall from grace, like Icarus who flew to close to the sun, he had been cast aside and forced to make his stand in the light.

It was bright, frightening, and exhilarating sensation that pooled down to the marrow of his bones, to know that he now held his destiny, within his own frail hands. Most likely, there would be no one coming to save him, for what use did these people have for a failure, all mouth and trousers, an incompetent who grossly overestimated his abilities? They would leave him to hang, right before finishing what he started and taking the credit for themselves.

Such an ignominious fate, Negi Springfield strove with all his might to undermine and supplant with an ending of his own making. But not just any victory would suffice; nay; he would do his Yeoman's service, above and beyond the call of duty, and smash all expectations to smithereens. The Doctor had a most dastardly conclusion to the tale in mind, which was precisely why he took a leave absence in the middle of the school week, just to come all the way out to the address of "Academy City, Building Number 29, Sakuragaoka 4-Chome".

The homely cottage of traditional wood and masonry, styled after a Swiss chalet, with its own private haven of Mother Nature's green, was a sight for sore eyes to him. If The Doctor himself ever got around to retiring, he had always had the strange fascination of owning his own sleepy cottage, somewhat secluded from the world, but not entirely cut off from it. After all, what use was the vast knowledge and wisdom of The Hermit, if he had no one to bestow his boons upon, eh?

I admit to some astonishment that that MacDowell would live in such a humble abode, thought Negi, a wry smile tugging at his lips, as he encroached upon the Dead Apostle's front porch. Frankly, I expected something grander, maybe a Victorian-style villa in the fashion of a Summer retreat. Although I would not have minded if a barrack-room lawyer's worth of fantasy would see to it that a vampire of her status, stooping so low as to haunt a graveyard. Heh.

As much as he could spend all day hawking on the pettiness of human-like monsters, The Doctor had far more pressing obligations to fulfill. Convention spoke that he ought to have a second deliver the writ of challenge to his opponent, but out of concern for the life expectancy of the messenger, Negi felt he should do the deed, personally. The foremost reason being he suspected anyone sent in his steed would be a returned an empty blood pack, and though the magister magi had some pieces at his disposal, none of them were mere pawns that he could afford to discard for convenience's sake.

Not to mention, Negi would have felt awful, sending lambs to the slaughter, without even a hope of fighting for their own survival. Casualties prior to the actual event were unacceptable, and the best guarantee of superb workmanship rested ultimately on his own shoulders. The duel would be clean in the spirit of fairness, and private, to bar any outside interference, but knowing the former Dark Mistress, she would not likely agree to strict terms.

The Doctor wanted the whole brouhaha sorted out as soon as possible with the annual class field trip fast approaching in his agenda. Old Konoemon Konoe had been laying it on thick whenever he happened to be summon to The Dean's office, hinting at additional extracurricular activities he would be required to fulfill while in Kyoto. The boy professor wanted his peace of mind, and Evangeline A.K. MacDowell was too big of a headache to have looming over his shadow any longer.

Hence, the terms were simple. The Dead Apostle had until the next new moon to muster her forces for an all out assault, whereupon Doctor N. Springfield would begin his own coordinated attack. Including the leaders, each side, though, will be limited to six pieces. Battles will only be permissible during the hours of dusk 'till sunrise. No innocent by-standers may be involved in the proceedings, which would cause the event to default. Otherwise all was fashionable, and to the victor will go the spoils of war.

He could not have imagined more favorable conditions, short of sordid tactics, as using hostages. But it was precisely because of these terms that Negi's triumph would be all the more sweeter. His own attack was telegraphed in advance. He would be on the defensive, a prisoner in his own fortress, never knowing what might spawn from rampant paranoia. It was an awful situation, but how would he redeem himself?

By fighting alone and wiping the floor with everything the Dead Apostle could throw at him, The Doctor would quell all doubts. If the King did not take the field, who would follow? Eheheheheh!

But I have been ringing the door bell, quite a few times now, is someone not bloody home at this hour? thought Negi with an increasingly irritated tic in his brow. I even asked around and confirmed she was bedridden at home on account of illness. Hey! This could not be a case where...that little seaweed drowned-haired trollop is ignoring me on purpose, could she?

Even the faintest possibility of effrontery was too much to bare for Doctor N. Springfield, wound tighter than a bowstring as is, he was a busy man and little time for petty tomfoolery. In this scenario, Negi had only one choice, so he surmised: a full frontal attack.

"OOOOOYYYYYyyyyyyyyyyyy~! _Ebaa_, ye olde hag cat! I knows ye be in d'ere, so lem'me in, lem'me in, ye olde hag cat, or I'll huff and I'll puff, and I'll blow y'er hut in!"

Such was his darkly vehemence that the birds and the carrion fled in droves, fluttering up through the canopy of the nearby conifers. The atmosphere, the tautness of the air was perfect; Negi could not have asked for better, never mind the all consuming presence of the morning sun. Now, if only the other actress would remember her part, so he does not look like a mad fool, hollering his head off on a lonely stage!

Oh, please, somebody! Anyone! Answer my call-mugya!

"Not by the whiskers of my chinny chin chin-_nya_."

Well, a rather understated, droning response, but if he replayed the voice track enough times, Negi's discerning ears could gather the traces smug sarcasm.

"Righ-TO~, then I'll huff and I'll puff! ...And I'll unlock the door to y'er hut."

Oh, there was no sorcery or unholy entreaty involved here, save for The Doctor grasping the metaphorical fistful of nettles and turning the doorknob. The rollers inside its mechanism turned without protest, and affirmed his intent crisply, opening the way to an invitingly empty foyer. It seemed Negi's game would continue a bit longer yet.

"I oh-so-humbly beg your pardon for the intrusion!" he hollered wryly, before stepping through the maw into the belly of the beast.

Analogies and his rapidly souring mood aside, the interior of the former Dark Mistress' cottage was surprisingly tasteful, for a Gothic Lolita older than prunes that is. Dolls, frills, memorabilia, and lace everywhere clashed with the stately polished floors and checkered carpets. The atmosphere stank of a spoiled child, who had never been taught to keep after herself, which would necessitate a permanent live-in caretaker.

"I wonder, where does your mistress keep her coffin? In the basement? Heh. It would be too shockingly logical for her, I think. Do you not agree, Karakuri-kun?"

Easy to mistake for one of the many set piece dolls haphazardly strewn about the living space, Chachamaru Karakuri made her presence known, with a elegant bow of her head, "Please, allow me to speak: as long as I have known her, _ojou_-sama has never required the haven of a traditional coffin-_nya_."

"And speaking of shocks, I presume the piping hot tea set there, includes a place for me?"

"You should imagine Karakuri Chachamaru-san's surprise in finding you here, _sensei_," the android acknowledged him offhand, as she deftly began to clear space at the coffee table. Her superhuman strength having little trouble balancing the tray in perfect harmony with her surgical movements, arranging the stuffed animals and assorted baubles, like they, too, were guests at this impromptu tea party. "My compliments at being unfazed by my light appearance-_nya_. Our few guests are unnerved, usually, by my comings and goings."

"Then I declare them uncultured philistines who lack the capacity to grasp the true beauty of _Furniture_. ...Although you can refrain from the catgirl routine, thank you very much; it clashes with your Gothic maid outfit."

"I hear and obey, but what alternative might you suggest, hypothetically speaking, Springfield-sensei?"

"Well, in the spirit of theory," Negi thumbed his chin thoughtfully, as he watched her work, "I feel your antennae already resemble rabbit ears."

"Acknowledged. Let it be known that Karakuri Chachamaru will file this data away for later perusal-_usa_."

The Doctor sweated. There it was again that hint of smug sarcasm. He wondered if the neon-haired doll even realized her emoting, despite her plain, deadpanned expression.

"Hey, is this not about the time you should ask what my intentions are?"

"Why bother?" Chachamaru's dull, clouded irises turned and fixed him flatly to the spot. "It is not apparent enough that you don't have a pre-arranged appointment with _ojou_-sama? If so, it is highly unusual that I was not brought abreast of the circumstance first."

"I find it not worth the effort to argue against your logic, I am afraid so. Speaking of the little trollop, where is she?"

"Please, sit, _sensei_," she indicated to the now vacated wooden easy chair, with the flat of her outstretch hand that reminded him of a bird raising its wing.

Negi sighed, inwardly, as he moved to reciprocate. After all, it would go against his principles, being an English gentleman to refuse the hospitality of his hostess, when she had done nothing to be deserving of his rudeness otherwise.

"Is milk tea to your taste?" Chachamaru asked him.

Milk tea? he raised a brow in turn. What an in~teresting choice. Maybe he ought to play a little game here, just for fun, hmmm? "If it is of the same smooth lissom as your silk stockings, then by all means, yes, _please_."

"Of course," the android answered him, without missing a beat, "it wouldn't be genuine Honk Kong-style milk tea otherwise, _sensei_."

Argh, what a misfire! And here The Doctor had been hoping his server would get all kinds of hot and bothered at a not-so-innocent double entendre. How bor~ing!

"And I see you still need work on your sense of humor..._girl_."

"Biscuits or scones..._sir_?"

Sparks were flying through the air in an electric atmosphere, but as amusing it might be to see who would win in an staring contest to the point of nausea, Doctor N. Springfield knew he had places to be and things to do. His lips compressing into a thin line, he told the neon-haired doll off coolly, so that there could be no mistake of his intention.

"None of the above. I want vampire trollop _à la mode_. And this milk tea... Is fascinatingly sweet and silken."

"_Ojou_-sama is ill," Chachamaru replied, a glimmer of a smile that could have been a trick of the light, tugging at the corners of her lips. Perhaps, she was pleased at her small victory of getting him to drink from the poisoned pot? "And fear not, I would never poison our guests, no matter who they might be."

The Doctor flushed red to his ears, but managed to hold on to his sly bearing by a hairbreadth. That third-rate doll...! She almost sank his battleship in one foul swoop!

"Ill is she? I find it hard to believe that the common cold would have much to do with _Miss _MacDowell, even if there was a ten-foot bargepole-sized thermometer parked up the spot where the sun should not be shining regularly for her."

"How very droll, _sensei_, but-"

"BUT NOTHING!" interrupted a incensed shriek that could only belong to the Full Monty Miss All-over Herself no less.

There was Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, spotted at the foot of the stairs perpendicular to the dining room (presumably). She huffed and puffed, like a red steam dragon pulling into the station, with enough feminine fury to choke a horse and burn the carcass afterward. But Doctor N. Springfield could not give a damn about The Dark Evangel's indignation, he was already the fox in the henhouse, and by Jove, was he ready to paint the place a brighter shade of apoplectic jealousy.

"Well, what do you know? Speak badly of the Devil in frilly pajamas, and thar she blows!"

"Kuhihihihihyahahahhahahahha!" Evangeline suspired a perverse giggling sneer, as beads of sweat dripped from her underneath her bangs. "The dogs, _hah_, who are about to die, hehehe, are always the one's who bark the loudest, Springfield! My powers might not be up to snuff, but for the hell of it, I won't mind strangling you to death. Your worst and last mistake, _hah_, was to show your face, here, alone!"

"Ah... Please, allow me to speak: _ojou_-sama, Karakuri Chachamaru recommends you return to bed. My scans indicate elevated-"

"Silence! S, stupid. Doll. _Hah_. I-I, The Dark Evangel, demand my satisfaction, NOW!"

Keywords: "Elevated", "Ill", and "Back to Bed". Observations: excessive flushing, sweat, pajamas, growing hysteria, and lack of coherency. The Doctor did not require much more evidence to deduce the truth of the sight before his eyes, and it made him sulk, with an open sigh. He rose from his seat and produce an enveloped document from his blazer.

"I had the same idea, to be honest, yet it appears I must cut our tea party short. Ahhh~! How bor~ing. What a pain you are, you mangy sack of dung, but it cannot be helped: Karakuri-kun, as Miss MacDowell's second, please accept this letter of challenge on her behalf. Also, for your information, I recommend you cease and desist with skipping school and attend your classes. I have spoken with The Dean, and the old raccoon was most receptive to the idea of holding you back another year for a lack of attendance."

Of course, Evangeline was having none of his unobtrusive retreat, a trio of ominous vials appearing betwixt her fingers in a flash. The sudden movement consequently caused the magister magi to draw his own wand from within the folds of his blazer on instinct. She had kept them likely hidden behind her back the whole time, while he had been enraptured in his sulky carelessness.

"Cha-cha-ma~ru, stand aside! Clearly, ihihihehehe, the little brat needs a hands-on lesson on how _little _grad-uating concerns **me**."

"_Ojou_-sama, this is an ill-thought recourse," said Chachamaru, nevertheless obeying her mistress after having accepted the documents already.

"I agree with your majordomo, _Miss _MacDowell. The only one who will end up hurt here..." Negi gave pause, as a visible burst of magical energy crystallized in the petite vampire's free hand. The phenomenon, like a smoldering ball of blue flame that would not be out of place on a will-o'-the-wisp, charged the air with an anxious tension that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. No doubt the situation was deteriorating, but he would not fall for such an obvious bluff. "...is you."

"Tee hee hee, that's my line, you fool! Satan take the moon, I'll settle things right here, right now!"

"And when I win this trite skirmish, I shall have you trussed and stuffed up, like a roasted pig in all your vulgar nakedness, to be paraded before the whole school. Do you still dare to toy with me, **girl**?"

Hammers cocked, rounds in the chamber, there was little left to the imagination as to how this messy encounter would end. The question of the day was, who would flinch first? Seconds into minutes, hours into days, adrenaline sure could do funny things to a duelist's sense of time, but the sun could play just as important a part, catching the lenses of a savvy pair of glasses for a blinding instant.

"GYI! My eyes~!" Evangeline shrieked shrilly, releasing all the pent up pressure at once, as she curled up into a helpless, mewling ball on reflex. "Ooooo~, my eyes! The sun, the sun, the sun, oooo hell, why the sun? _Eeeekk_..."

Game. Set. Match.

Negi sighed. "Karakuri-kun, please, go see to your mistress and tuck her back into bed. I will remain here, sipping some milk tea, in the mean time, thank you."

It was all too obvious the Dead Apostle's...high fever had driven her to the heights of delirium, and the android dutifully moved to carry out his not-so-debatable suggestion (read: command).. But whoever heard of a vampire getting sick? Strange, very strange indeed, and he was looking forward to an explanation from the person who should know best.

"Thank you for your clemency, sensei," said Chachamaru, when she returned a short time later, with a deep, precise bow. "Your magnanimity continues to surprise me."

"It comes with being responsible for others. I imagine you have experienced much the same."

"I'd hope so, Springfield-sensei."

"Hnnn. How is she?"

"Suffering, which is only natural, for at this time, _ojou_-sama is so weak, she's about as dangerous as her physical appearance. That is to say, a mere human child of some odd years, of course."

"Assuming I believe your statement at face value, might I inquire what exactly afflicts her?"

"Fever from the commonplace fever all the way to hay, sensei."

"Hay fever, you say? Goodness gracious, just what kind of shoddy vampire is she?"

"None of my concern, in particular, but would you kindly watch over the house, while I run a few errands? You're free to help yourself to whatever you like in our pantry, of course, and Karakuri Chachamaru would appreciate, if you kept tabs on _ojou_-sama's condition from time to time. Would that be agreeable, _sensei_?"

Changing the subject was she? Ha ha! Not so fast, Karakuri! You won't get away without a scratch.

"And I find it hard to imagine, your prissy miss would agree to such terms? Has she not punished you already for meeting with me the other day?"

"Nothing came of it, so I saw no reason to burden her unnecessarily, when Eva-sama's vengeance draws so near. ...But why do you suggest so, sensei? Was I behaving illogically, perhaps?"

Negi deflated instantly at the controversial challenge now spoiling his fun. He could find a way around, but... Oh, rot it. He would let her get away, this time.

"Oh, do whatever it is that needs doing; I could use some peace and quiet to contemplate the mysteries behind your mistress at the moment."

Chachamaru left without another word, leaving him to his own solitude in the cottage. The arrangement was all right and dandy with him really, as he wished to contemplate the mystery of Evangeline A.K. MacDowell. Alas, the more the magister magi thought about her, the less sense her case made to him by the second. The undead should be immune to the diseases of the living, yet here he had an exception to the rule right within his grasp. It would suggest that the supposedly dead "Dead Apostle" was not an animated caricature of a corpse, as Negi first surmised.

A simple examination confirmed that Evangeline was still very much a warm-blooded, breathing creature that constituted "Alive", on the contrary to his preceding rationale. He needed to revise his theory but the new model was anymore palatable either: how could a mighty Dead Apostle be transformed into some naughty pseudo vampire? In fact, she had more in common with a werewolf than a classical vampire did.

"What kind of sorcery is this? And who could have done it?" Negi mumbled aloud in uneasy perplexion. Rewriting the laws of nature was no easy feat, but if this was not a case of "Rewriting", more like... "Revising". What, then?

His line of thought, however, would have to wait, thanks to the tasteless interjection of an unexpected interloper, derailing the entire train.

"'Kihihihihii! That's it, that's it! I just can't, get, enough, of that troubled kind of face! Iihihihihi!' giggles Chachazero in ecstasy."

The Doctor drank greedily from his cup in the dim hope that silken sweetness might shock him awake from the grisly exasperation before him. Each twist of the little green-haired doll's head pronounced themselves, with an unsavory, human pop of bone, drew another bead of sweat across his furrowed brow. Blood ebbed rapidly in his veins to a numbing chill, as his prayers were dashed upon the craggy cliff face of reality, unforgiving of the fact that once more, he was about to be plagued by another nut case.

And this one looked like Chachamaru Karakuri's cousin on a shoestring budget!

"Forgive me, but I do not recall ever being introduced," the magister magi propped his glasses by the bridge of his nose, catching a flicker of light that reflected the doll's manic smile, with way too many teeth, "much less yourself climbing onto this table."

"'Stu~pid wizard, Chachazero's always been here,' so Chachazero would object," she cackled back at him, literally, from that anatomically impossible pose.

"So you are deranged and a compulsive liar. Maybe if I reach over and screw your head on the way it was meant to be, you will sing a different tune for me, canary?"

"'Ooh, oohh~, go ahead! Chachazero's tired of words. Sticks and stones are much, much better. C'mon, c'mon, pick me up! Pick me up! I promise not to bi~te, unless you want me to~, ihihii'-GWACK!"

Obviously, she was broken, and there was nothing like a few thumps to the head to a cure an uncooperative machine, right?

"'Owowowowowow! That hurt! That really, actually hurt! Meanie. You big stupid wiggie meanie! Chachazero's gonna tell on'-UWAH!"

Oh dear, he just knocked it flat on its back, did he not? Good grief! So it was not a delusion, after all?

"'Hey, hey, hey, sit me up! Sit Chachazero up! It was a lot of work, just to come out from under the table. Phooey, so little mana; can't even chop you up into ittle-bittle pieces, wanna... Hey, hey~! St~oo~pid, Chachazero's talk~ing to you!' entreats Chachazero in a pitiful way."

"If you promise to behave and tell me a story I like, I can do better than right by you."

"'Better than right?' wonders Chachazero, with a thoughtful grin."

"I will sit you on my lap and comb your hair."

"'Eeeeeeeee~! Really? You mean it, really?' Chachazero breathes excitedly."

"You wanted attention? Well, you have mine. So, what will it be killer doll?"

"'Iihihihihihi, such a charmer, what a smooth-talker, and he gets right to the heart of the massacre! So much better than the other village idiot wizard, but wait, that would make you the village smartie-pants magic killer, huh? Eeeeeeeee~! _Pachi_, _pachi_, _pachi_! O-K, O-K! Chachazero will play with you,' is what Chachazero agrees!"

* * *

This is an unfinished story from a long, long, short while ago about a lone black witch. The chapter is somewhere, pro-bably, near here and now, from when the Unlucky Black in her wanderings of a certain Spring, met an idiot village wizard in a shock~ing encounter, iihehehe. It must have been fate, because the threads that bind them were to be severed this particular day of a certain Fall.

On a field of honor, supposedly, the two met again, a sandy beachhead on a distant shore, after having not seen each other in many a season. Only a fool would say it was nothing personal when duels were just that...personal, kiikekeke! For since long ago, the witch had held a grudge against the wizard, one that could only be repaid in blood.

"To be or not to be", atypical of such fleeting vanity, was the question of the day. And through strength of violence did the black witch seek to win the much belated contest, but pride is the cannabis of the strong, never had she sought to see past the bungling veneer and grasp the true nature of the idiot wizard. His foolishness might have been by choice, not for a lack of cunning, and the Unlucky Black would pay dearly. You see...

It was a trap, KUAH-HAHA-hahahaha!

She had lost before the duel had even begun, and the victor, privileged by custom and nonsense, decided on a most diabolical spoil. A friend of a friend required the services of a trained bandog, fierce and ruthlessness, to guard his property, and what better a hound could a gent ask for than the Unlucky Black, eh? Ehhhhh? Eeeeeeehyahahahaha!

To see the feared queen of the night, whose many macabre exploits became cautionary bed time trifles to scare children in their beds, reduced to a pitiful dog, biting at the bit, was quite a fitting punishment, but the village idiot wizard was not without clemency. In fact, kekeke, the astute observer might call it the hubris of his kind, killing with kindness that is! Hyahahaha!

So, did the Smiling Thousand promise the Unlucky Black that a time for endings would surely come, she need only sharpen her fangs and claws for the fated day. Tee hee hee, you can guess how that ended, says Chachazero impishly. The moral of the story? Don't trust the ones who smile too often, because chances are somewhere, some when, something awful is happening to someone they know~!

* * *

"'_Jaa_~_an_, and that ends play time,' Chachazero declares proudly from the bottomless hole that is her never-there heart!"

The fact the manic doll could say such words spoke volumes of how much of a total brass neck she was, not to mention clearly batty. A cursory scan with his A.R. glasses had revealed that unlike the other show pieces, Chachazero was still a functioning "Supporter", despite hideous neglect by her mistress, and likely, creator. The absence of mana supply, caused by MacDowell's complications, had reduced her capability to a barely "living", unhinged familiar. It was a deplorable state of affairs but par for the course, considering the evidence of the Dead Apostle's habits.

All of her possessions were mere trifles to sate Evangeline's odious megalomania, a source of discord he would enjoy prodding and retuning to his liking in the near future. At the moment, however, The Doctor concerned himself with how much he should trust Chachazero's mad tale. Was it the fantastic stuff of feverish dementia, or were there grains of truth to be sifted out from all the chaff? The latter held some intriguing nuggets that shed more light in how the impotent Evangeline A.K. MacDowell came to be, but there were more mysteries still that begged to be answered.

What manner of compulsion, presumably magical in nature, could be holding her here? Who in the hell was this Smiling Thousand fellow, and just how badly had The Dean been inebriated to accept a former Dark Mistress' as his school's reluctant mastiff? It was the stuff of idiocy.

Setting Chachazero aside, the neon-haired sociopathic doll having lost interest in him, Doctor N. Springfield decided to return upstairs to haunt the other of his patients. Only the convenient roll of Lady Luck's dice made him walk right in on the blonde-haired trollop of a leech bolting upright, looking quite like death just warmed up, fresh from a nightmare in the grave. Negi sighed; things could have so much easier if she had just stayed unconscious. And alack, his brilliant muse that should have helped answer a mystery right within his grasp, just left the building.

"You. Just shut your spout. I have a heart blacker than jet-black night, so lay down, do not thank me, rest up, and come to my bloody class.

Wisely, The Dark Evangel shut her fanged trap in wide-eyed bewilderment, as she experienced The Doctor's rare bedside manner: their faces, scandalously, nose to nose with each other.

"Prognosis, I think it is on the cards that you will make a full recovery. Your love examination has concluded, _Miss _Evangeline A.K. MacDowell."

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

It's done, and we are broadcasting live from North Carolina. MWAHAHAHAHAHA! Guess my Semper Fu is better than I thought.

By the way, if you don't care about a certain issue that has come to my attention recently involving, I think, "Realistically British characterization" / "Gentlemanly International-Cosmopolitan Authenticity", please skip the following paragraphs and go about your business as usual. After all, you folks already understand the concept of "Suspension of Disbelief", and that this story is just "Fanfiction", so the writer is going to lean pretty hard on popular culture, like James Bond and so on, as his guiding compass with some real world knowledge to ground himself partially in reality. Still, controversy's controversy so I'm going to get on my soap box and talk about it in my self-depreciating ye olden way.

From here on is the zeitgeist of my Mad, Very Mad Creative Angst Blog:

"Now, please, allow me a moment to address a component of our international readership. In my defense to an anonymous quip, I am just an American, and a barmy U.S. Marine at that, wrestling with the intangible gist of the magnificence required to portray the archetype of Inglorious British Basterd, who holds himself in unbelievably high esteem, a posh English gent similar to Sir Harry Paget Flashman really. I have been told by some natives that my portrayal of The Doctor is already too British to them, but hey, opinions are subjective like that, eh?

"I hope you find it in your hearts to forgive your distant redneck cousin across the pond for his colonial jackassery that I have only achieved the level of characterization, as one commentator has said, "a bloody twat". But, thanks to your unintentionally enlightening reminder, I will redouble my efforts post-haste to uplift Doctor Springfield to the lofty heights of stylishly bloody krazy basterd that the real Doctor Who can be proud of.

"Clearly, I have rested conservatively on my laurels for too long, and young Doctor Springfield's been making too much sense. Thank you. But dear readers, if you start seeing people made fun of and-or cussed out more frequently in full gamut of proverbs and idioms from Arabic all the way to Zulu that really flies over your head like the one who flew over the cuckoo nest? ...Well, I think we'll all know just who to blame in Swahili and the grand spirit of expansionist colonialism. Savvy, huh?

"Never mind Doctor Springfield's official collegiate training lies in the fields of English, Psychology, Sociology, and Communications. So, his conception of multiculturalism is likely largely vested in whatever encounters he has in popular culture, history, and the mass media. That said, he can probably run circles around you in, I dunno, Martian?

"Really, I've just been trying to be sensible, considering The Doctor has been irreverently referring to Earth time in and time again to the equivalent of a backwater sack of balls. I have never stated explicitly that The Doctor was a globetrotter who traveled the world, but he has most certainly been to outer space and beyond. If anything, he's more like an alien trying his best impersonation of an English gentleman. Also, since he was born in the Western world, is it not expected naturally then that his education and paradigms are deeply rooted in those traditions? What being a supposed Oxford graduate and all? So, why would he know anything as exotic as Turkish, Urdu, or Swahili, anyways?

"Of course, there might be a subtlety involved in why he constantly pokes at the Americans, and sometimes the Russians, considering he's in Japan, and the culturally accommodating thing to do in the cordial spirit of wit and-or friendship, mayhap, is to refer to the incredulousness of the Cold War players. And who knows, the fact he's not making fun of his own culture from the British Isles could be evidence of bias? Then again: Context. Context. Context.

"But, the real lesson here, seriously? _Achekaye kovu hajaona jeraha_ (read: this is a Swahili proverb and quite a poignant one at that too, which states, "Don't insult what someone does if you don't fully understand the root of their actions.") And looking at you, sir or ma'am, you clearly don't grasp the spirit of what I am doing here. I seek to entertain, and obviously, I am biased by what I have been exposed to or choose to expose myself to in my limited lifespan. Sometimes I strive to educate, I admit, but for the most part, good hardboiled entertainment is without a doubt my ultimate objective.

"That said the intent of the original speaker of those words can be twisted either way; it's all really quite subjective and useless, since beauty is in the eye of the beholder. How unfortunate it seems to apply to wisdom too, so, do I need to say anymore at the risk of sounding like a broken tape recorder? Gosh, I hope not.

"So, to anonymous reviewers out there, please, in the future, sign in or leave me some kind of contact info, if you want to challenge me on something you know will wake me the hell up (read: it's controversial). It vexes me to have to take up other folks' time with "U MAD?" business like this, when it may be preferable to address the issue in private. I don't need an international controversy amongst my readers, don't you think so? I understand it's frustrating that I haven't revealed more back story, which would prevent such misconceptions, but I've got my own time table to follow, and that stuff is still waiting in the cue."

Blogging end, and now, I guess it's time to break a leg and hope for the best. Hold on to your seats, folks; it's about to get crazier in the cabin.

Now then, what else was I going to say? Hope y'all enjoyed the episode. Gosh, I flew through a ton of events here, introduced more of the Dark Evangel's household, and errata. Hope y'all are looking forward to an awesome throw down, when the next broadcast airs.

In the meantime, please, don't burn me at the stake; it'd be very detrimental to my ability to keep producing future installments for y'all's enjoyment.

See ya at the next gig.

Peace.


	18. Chapter 18

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. Beware of: Concrete shoes, CYA~nide, T-N-T... HIGH VOLTAGE! YEAAHH.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 18:

Dirty Deeds...

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

The wind was blowing. A melancholy sonata curled sensuously through the tresses of her golden locks, aglow in the gibbous limelight, like the fabled touch of a nostalgic lover. The time of destiny had arrived, presided by Unsung Selene, high above in her lofty box seat against the empty canvas of midnight. The curtains of storm heads were parting, unfolding the stage of redemption for one, and damnation for other.

After eighteen haunted winters, eighteen blasted summers, The Dark Evangel, feared Queen of the Night, had returned, and her resurrection was just getting started. Tonight, she would dye the town red in her color, with the blood of her enemies, and watch this prison they thought to keep her under lock and key for all eternity swallowed into a sea of flame. What better message could the Dark Mistress send to let the whole world know that her awesome reign of the pure moonlit night would rise again?

Indeed, there were none, but the fact did not bring any relief to Evangeline A.K. MacDowell. Worries gnawed on her esteemed intellect, like a vexed child chewing at its nails, and she did not want to admit to herself that the source of it all can be traced to a singularly irascible individual. Having regained her powers, the vampire should have felt no fear.

Alas, Evangeline's cheeks did burn with infuriating anxiety, her immaculate fangs teasing at her freshly manicured rose-red nails. Here, she waited for him that contemptible impostor, clad in her best glamour and ready to do war, beginning no less by the destruction of the _faux _Victorian plaza she occupied at present. He was coming; the spell arrays, bulbous domes coated in glowing blue sigils that outlined their areas of influence, covering vast plots of the school, which had appeared shortly after her "Invitation into Darkness" were irrevocable proof of his intentions. But to think the Dark Mistress could not perceive of such massive constructs, until her powers had been released was...unnerving, to say the least.

Still, she must not waver, not when she was so close to freedom!

Good... That useless Sasaki, is almost here, thought Evangeline coldly, a shiver of tactile feedback ghosting through her slender outstretched fingers, from phantom-like strings glistened in the moonlight. Be swift, girl! Faster!

The string on her ring finger twanged an obedient note, and there she beheld a brief glimmer of her foe: a darkly figure under a curious wide brimmed hat, swaggering down the road, like he owned the neighborhood. Such pomp, the vampire expected no less from the insufferable jackass, styled in the finery of Man. She would enjoy taking what rightly belonged to her and burning his offending carcass to the last, leaving no hope of him to be reanimated again as a corpse.

Oh no, Evangeline wanted any trace of the existence called "Negi Springfield" wiped from the face of the earth! But if her deadly intent was true, then why did her bosom ache so with a heat that she could not mistake for the beat of the temporary counterfeit body her archenemy had caged her into long ago? Verily the heart long since dead stirred, despite her disbelief, and so-called butterflies danced in The Dark Evangel's belly.

Why? Why now? Was it nostalgia? Dread? Loathing? What could be perplexing her at such a critical juncture?

Evangeline sighed, and off to the side, Chachamaru, merely, looked on. The android, dressed in the same maid attire as the other "pieces" gathered tonight at the plaza, around the calmly streaming water fountain, was most absorbed in observing her mistress. In the aftermath of Professor Springfield's visit from the other day, Chachamaru had noticed Eva's sudden "condition". Mistress being mistress, the vampire had not a clue she was in what the young and hip would commonly equate to "a funk".

Scans detected no scientific malpractice, and the professor did not strike her as the dastardly kind to play foul with his own student, delinquent or otherwise, when the latter was at her weakest. Therefore, Chachamaru could only presume Evangeline had somehow been...thunderstruck by the encounter, speechless by the magnanimity of the one she set out to destroy.

The truth of what transpired, alas, was for her mistress and Negi Springfield alone to know, since Chachazero, her much obliged elder sister, could not be bothered to give an answer.

He said a L-O-V-E examination, Evangeline fumed, nibbling fixedly at her freshly rouged lips. What. The. Barmy. HELL. did he mean by that? Did somebody tell him? Then, who? Why? For what? Those memories, MY memories aren't something a damned charlatan should be allowed to touch!

But he had been kind, well, about as "kind" a monster clothed in human skin knew how to be, emulating the tricks and mannerisms of the prey animals. Being tended to in her pitiful bedridden state had not been without its benefits, for it afforded The Dark Evangel a rare, albeit brief opportunity to study her prey up close and personal. There was much to learn and not enough time to answer all the riddles, his fangs nursing her feverish flesh, a clinical caress, probing yet salutary.

No doubt, Evangeline, too, had been studied, and in spite of herself, she grudgingly had to submit to the grim reality: this Negi Springfield possessed a scent of...madness similar yet dissimilar to herself. What in the world was that bastard? What did he learn from her? Could she beat him? Could she?

And why? Why was it that fake reminded her of HIM, a possibility if fate had dealt the cards differently and painted The Thousand Master in the colors of the moonlit world, like an angel that lost its wings and decayed into the demon it once was?

**No**. Nothing else mattered from here. There was no need for hesitation. Might made right, and she would have all the time in the world soon enough to play the game, retracing his moves to learn of what Stygian horrors lay beneath that conceitedly smiling facade.

The Dark Mistress rose from her perch in a flutter of cloth, her great cape fluttering about her eminent person. A sneer creased her lips, the main dish was but moments away, his foul, maddening stink preceding himself. Right around the corner, any minute now, and...there, her prey sight had caught him crossing the bridge yonder.

Just like before, verily, Negi Springfield cut a darkly figure, made more ominous and stranger still by his attire, a black weathered ten-gallon hat, with an assortment of feathers tucked into the band on its left side, and a matching fitted duster. Belted at the waist and cutaway at the front for the sake of utility, its divided skirts and abbreviated cape, the old leathery material fraying at the edges, trailed in the surge of wind following his rude swagger. A pair of orange lens spectacles peeked out over the duster's high collar, eerily aglow in the moonlight, and though The Dark Evangel wished it was not so, she knew the truth to be harsh and cruel.

A cowboy from the fabled Old West had come to a duel by moonlight's eve, there his eye-catching chaps inscribed with swirling curves likes licks of flame from a fire, and here, too, the tell-tale staccato "ching-ching!" jingle-jangle of his spurs teasing at the ears. He was all black and earthen colors for her eyes, a bandanna festooned around his neck in the way of a neckerchief. The pernicious lout carried no weapon in sight on his weathered, craven person, instead, he featured proudly a lasso and bullwhip, hanging off the back of his waist by the utility belt, laden with many a knick-knack and pouch.

It was a bold, belligerent slight as the spoken word, spitting on The Dark Evangel's resolve. The priggish and insufferable _Mister _Negi Springfield had not come here to fight her. Oh no, he didn't! See. He came to corral a...disagreeable _**animal **_that had escaped from the barn, hehehe! Oh no, he didn't!

"Oh no~, oh no~, oh no~; oh no, you didn't! Sonuvawhore promised me but you never made good to me, never! Oh no, you didn't! First you trapped me, then you tried to FOO~L me? Oh no~, you didn't! Didn't you see, such humiliation will bring annihilation, at last? Oh no~, you didn't! It will be delicious when I get vicious to-night! Oh no, you didn't~! There's no second chances; you will do the Dance of Sor~row~! Oh no, you didn't~ / Oh no, you didn't~ / Oh no, you didn't~ / Oh no, you didn't~ / didn't you, oh no? You didn't pay me what You~ Owe~ ME~, so NOW, It's~ O~ver for Y-O-U! KIYAH-hahahahhahahaha!"

And looking on from the side, Chachamaru pondered the relative value of informing her mistress, cackling in a sweetly murderous, sing-a-song tone that she had drawn blood from her own knuckle clenched fists. Mademoiselle Evangeline's vampiric constitution was nothing to laugh at, according to her extensive observations, but its regenerative capability, how ever marvelous, was an anachronism. Requiring a considerable expenditure of both blood and mana, entropy built up rapidly in the system, and could prove fatal for the user should supply be unable to keep up with demand.

Therefore, the young miss wounding herself before anyone drew first blood, so Karakuri Chachamaru concluded, was definitively _illogical_. The neon-haired android estimated their probable chances of victory had just dropped by one-point-one-two-three-six-nine-seven-two-four-eight-E-sixtieth, plus-or-minus...

_Jingle_! Jangle.

Ah, too late for what-if scenarios now, she had better commit her charge to other processes. The main dish for tonight's bloody banquet had arrived. Time to do her part; it was Karakuri Chachamaru's _raison d'être_, yes?

"Oh ho ho ho ho! Welcome, welcome, _Mister_ Springfield~!" Evangeline began with boisterous bravado, fanning out her skirts in a curtsey. The mocking gesture repeated itself elegantly in lock-step choreography through the rest of her handmaids, once insufferably vapid school girls by day, now transformed into hornet's with the faces of smiling angels. "To be fashionably late, is just so~ like you, isn't it? Right~, girl~s?"

"_Haii_~!" chorused Makie Sasaki as one with her equally glass-eyed companions,

"Ahhh, aren't they agreeable, sen-sei~? Oh yes; yes, they~ are~, if I should say so myself. Much more tolerable now, hmm?"

Admirably, the boy professor stood his ground against the withering fusillade of open condescension, like a cliff face against the crash waves. Humans might call the situation ironic, considering the present represented a total about face of her mistress demeanor in class earlier today, reserved as a drowsy house cat. Shame, any semblance of civility would likely reach the end of its tether, so Karakuri Chachamaru prognoses, the moment Negi Springfield unsheathed his own mighty bloodletting lip service.

"But real~ly, for The King to join us so early without an entourage, is it bravery that motivates you? Foolhardiness? Or, are you just that **penniless**? Kuhihihihihi! It's fine if you answer all of the above, too, sen-sei~! There's no need to hold back; by the time this night's over, I'll have you smeared red and blue all over Mahora Academy! So, c'mon! Give me another of your snappy one-liners to remember you by, hu~h? HYAH-hahahahahaha!"

And then, the unthinkable happened. Negi reached up with a gloved hand, armored up with plate and lamellar to form a Samurai-style vambrace (a curious choice), and plucked an object from his ears: a wireless earpiece, apparently so. If her audio pick-ups were not mistaken, was that music playing?

"Wot's it? Wot's it?" he ranted irritably in his native English, a contemptuous sneer unraveling upon his devilishly handsome bearing. "Did ye say sum-fink t'me, you naffin' sourpuss twat?"

The frank gutterspeak, even thicker than his usual blend, said plain as day the mage was not toying around, for good manners and customs required an extraneous investment worth of effort.

"Wait, waiting... Oh! Am I ter think I ought ter k_now_ ye from somewhere? Hnnn. Sorry, I dinnah 'member callin' fer _no _harlot in leathers an' _no_t _rabi_' '_utch_ else, beg your pardon, Miss ten-a-penny bleachy, flimsy blondie in a sack. ...but, do da carpets match da drapes 'appen ter match an 'all too, out ov cur~iosity?"

Her outboard thermal indicators detected fearfully falling temperatures that even elicited a shrill chill from their volunteered entourage; thus, did Chachamaru correlate that her mistress's change in color from tasteful ivory to sickly milk, said much for who was the better psychologist. She just could not seem to find the buttons that royally pissed off young Mister Springfield, other than challenging "His Ascendancy", which only went so far before he could even up the ante. Creaking glass fixtures on the nearby lamp posts, which shattered from the surging onset of freezing air, snuffing out the last beacon of Man's light in a city gone dark. It signaled that the climatic note to begin this nightmare symphony was about to be struck.

The moonlit sliced through the clouds, streaming down like curtains gliding aside to open the stage. Evangeline's lips parted to speak her lines only to be silenced into a voiceless, unintelligible scream by a single finger.

"Blimey! Wait, 'old that thought!" barked the offending perpetrator, a mad dog on the verge of being set loose from his bondage, "'cos 'ere's me fav'rite part! HIT it!"

What should have elicited a brief awful squeal of noise when the cowboy crushed the ear bud, instead produced the loud surging growl of a electric guitar. Steady drumbeats followed side-by-side with the lead guitar, like soldiers at a gun parade march, setting the tempo of the beat, high-octane action, too hot for television, with rhythm, bass, and METAL. It was flaming hot adrenaline for the soul, and based on her calculations, cross-referenced with many a datum worth of surveys, Chachamaru Karakuri concluded: the (dis)honorable Mister Springfield had good taste.

Snapping his fingers to the melody, he stepped forth into their midst and boldly sang:

"Hey~! if you're! / Havin' trouble with your junior-high head?

Say, she's got a broken h~eart? Ha Ha, oh yeah!

You wanna graduate, but not in 'er bed~?

Then, here's what chu~ gotta do~!"

The thralls hissed and shied away from his presence, like a flaming torch to inky blackness. Jingle jangle, click-click, Mister Springfield's cheeky smile paved the way for his undulating swagger, a savvy spoor more fit for a drunken pirate aboard a rolling, tossing ship on the storming high seas than the common landlubber afoot. Then again, Chachamaru concluded his blithe audacity to be appropriate, when taking into consideration the inexplicably dangerous waters he now treaded.

"Pick up the phone, I'm al~ways home~!

Call me a-n-y-t-i-m-e, oh yeah!"

Just ring: three-six-two-four-three-six, fella!

I lead a life of CRI~ME!"

That said, the neon-haired android was surprised her dismally obdurate and maudlin mistress had not exploded (yet). To borrow an expression from the self-styled English cowboy's native vocabulary, Chachamaru understood to a decimal point, he was quite mercilessly taking the piss out of Evangeline. The invidious lyrics, rephrased for relevance, were a cheap shot that hit the nail right on the head, and still, the ashen-faced Dark Mistress did not say a word. In fact, Magister Magi Negi Springfield would soon be right on top of-

"Dirty deeds~! Done dir-EEEEYAAGGHH!"

Before the cocky scoundrel could launch into the chorus, swift as a whipping gale of blonde and black, twelve-centimeters (approximately five inches) of Evangeline A.K. MacDowell's glossy stiletto heels found themselves buried into the foeman's crotch. To say who was more surprised, Chachamaru, blinking with an astounded "O" on her lips, or the now swooning Mister Springfield, squeaking a very different tune, many an octave higher in some unholy magnitude of rainbow-hued apoplectic agony, was a difficult question to answer. On the other hand, there was no mistaking who had the last laugh on the matters.

"Girls?" Evangeline beckoned casually with a murderous sneer tugging at her rose-red lips.

The thralls squealed in girlish glee, having long since anticipated the violence their mistress wished to visit upon the hobbling magister magi. And visit him they did, Sasaki Makie opening with an impudent front kick to his buttocks that blasted poor Mister Springfield flat on his face, to which her assorted colleagues applauded, hooting like hyenas, but the ignominy was not to end there.

Standing by, Chachamaru watched dispassionately, the winsome music gone, as her mistress's unwitting victims made sport of their teacher, trampling him into the pavement, biting, splitting skin, laughing, prodding, and soiling the stones in coppery red.

An eye for an eye they say, so it was only fair that by a whimsical flick of Evangeline's manicured fingers, they divest him of his lasso and bullwhip. What followed transformed the once impetuous cowboy into a pitiful, shrilly squealing steer, hogtied in harsh bondage, and not allowed even the human concession of being brought low to his knees. Verily it was a spectacle the Dark Evangel did enjoy, her crude, haughty laughter carried to the four winds, far and wide, as she planted her heel firmly into the small of his back, the bullwhip cracking overhead.

"Oh ho ho ho ho! The best! This is the best! FEELING. EVER~! KYAH~hahahhaha! Hell, how I've missed this feeling!"

Beneath her heel, bruised, bleeding, and more or less thoroughly beaten, the now impotent Negi Springfield whimpered ineffectually, as his bondage was chaffing on a rather tender part. Likewise, Chachamaru Karakuri, the ever scientific observer, could not resolve how erroneous her projections had been, despite the incorrigible evidence presented. Unbeknownst to her mistress, the android had determined privately not long ago that their odds of success to be quite low, due to a huge gap in tactical acumen between Evangeline and the (dis)honorable Mister Springfield.

The young miss was all brute force on a hair trigger, and the magister magi was as skillful and cunning as the quintessential mouse that made the boorish elephant stumble and fall, narrowly avoiding his own messy demise in the process. So, why in the world would he allow himself to be so thoroughly trounced before the first spell had even been cast?

"Ooo~, what a fool! Gyahhahahahaha! ...YOU IDIOT!" Evangeline ground her heel viciously into her captive's back, eliciting an uncomfortable whimper from the latter. "Didn't you realize this would be the result if you didn't take me seriously? Stupid FAKE! You'd think it'd be the same as the first time we fought? III~DIOT. Can't you feel it? Huh? Huh? You can't, can you? Iihihihihihi! Rise and shine, and smell the roses, you MOR~on. This. is. ME. The true power of the Dark Evangel! The feared queen of the night who has explored the blackest depths of CRUELTY!"

How proudly she speaks of it. Thus, Chachamaru, though she disagreed with the chilling data, was left little choice but to confirm the truth of the tall tales her mad as a hatter, elder sister had reminisced about on occasion, detailing the exploits of the young miss in the dark reign of her prime. Perhaps, it was not all hyperbole, and the android ought to be concerned for the welfare of the entire school should the former Dark Mistress complete her resurrection, freed from the curse that bound her to Mahora Academy for nearly two decades. There was much dirty enmity to be aired out, and unless Negi Springfield was a miraculous comeback-

"_Agh_, h-hey... Wait a, _ouch_... Is... Is that you back there, MacDowell?"

Ah, how could she forget; the present subject matter concerned THE Mister Springfield, the young man who made apparently oblique contretemps, when in fact they were purposeful and premeditated, part of a far larger scheme. And in the natural premorse way of theater, the thralls all gaped and stared, like fish gasping for air, channeling their puppeteer's subconscious astonishment, as Evangeline let loose with a blood curling scream. In a flash, the bullwhip cracked and the red-faced vampire had the impudently grinning cowboy by the throat, held off the ground by her single hand.

"Rrrrrghhhhh! You crap-eating bastard! Just WHO did you think I was?"

It was a question that should never be asked of _Negius Savvius Springfieldius_, when the specimen was cornered, as the android and her mistress were about to discover.

"God blind me, is it so hard for your boggy blummin' brain, MacDowell? The thought that I might run a case of mistaken identity, when my resident delinquent transforms from a stale Abercrombie and Fitch lolita, liable to get you jailed for sexually assaulting a geriatric, to Berkley Hunt in leather and underwear, ready to spread her fanny for the first bugger with a fiver? ...Shite, give me a break; humans are visually oriented hunters! You changed your look, you bloody git, and I reckon it is all fake and plastic, too. So do you want to add pedophilia, soliciting a minor, and identity fraud to your list of growing charges, along side debauchery and prostitution? ...Hell, what kind of mentally challenged buffoon wants to fight in their knickers, anyways?"

Ever the logical one, Chachamaru agreed with the magister magi's valid assessment. Shame her mistress could not appreciate the beatific conclusion he had drawn, evidenced by Evangeline's boorish cry, as she lashed out with an abrupt backhanded swipe on the cheek, knocking Negi's glasses and hat off his noggin' in one wicked blow. He coughed, spitting a glob of blood and phlegm from his split lips, but even in pain, the Englishman's glib smile did not waver.

Eyes closed, he went right on talking, "Typical. Truly, you are the quintessential brute, my dear Miss MacDowell. Vulgar and barbaric. I do not believe you would know what class is, even if you happened to be a patient to it, like a foul, rank smelling case of venereal dis-"

"SHUT UP. Shut. UP!" she suspired roughly, after having struck him again, this time across the other cheek, "You, yooooouuuuuuuuuu!"

The wind howled, adding a chilling accompaniment to Springfield's bittersweet laugh, as a wake of shadows settled on the plaza. Clouds had blocked Selene's sight, and from here on lay the fantastical realm of the witch's darkness.

"Hehehe, by and by, MacDowell, did you notice the numbers in my eyes?"

"Num~bers? You'd talk about numbers now, when I can snap your neck like a twig!"

"Go ahead, if it kindly pleases you," he opened his eyelids to reveal the cruelest horror of them all, "because they just ticked to ZERO."

"Oh."

Very. OH.

* * *

From a safe standoff distance, down wind and ensconced atop some red-bricked building amongst many similar structures, exiting west by a five-way intersection, Doctor N. Springfield watched the blast of fiery light and deafening sound erupt against the skyline. Occluded in a dizzying dust of sorcerous misdirection and concealment that provided effective camouflage, otherwise the inhospitable urban terrain would have given him away at the slightest passing glance. Presently absorbed in the glowing green viewfinder of a 25x zoom telescopic night sight connected to a beastly behemoth of a weapon, longer than he was tall, the boy professor had the benefit of the doubt that his enemy would not notice him, unless she knew where to look.

The expression Negi wore, his tactical earpiece picking up the cacophony of girlish squeals and indignant yelps from the emerging sphere of writhing, giggling blackness amidst the dissipating smoke, could only be thought of as perversely vulgar by the uninitiated. His cheeks and lips contorted, brandishing perfect rows of white teeth that added a disturbingly maniacal light to his gleeful bloodshot eyes, like an adrenaline junkie getting his fix at long last, speeding down a hill at wholly unsafe, breakneck velocity. Indeed, it was a look of such unadulterated pleasure, the disembodied observer might wonder if he possessed more than a healthy adulation of the wondrous havoc he could wreak provided the impetus and the resources.

For a certain Mammon of Greed, and all things that concerned her devil-may-care master, she could not ever be satisfied with one look at such a "lewd" face (in her opinion, anyways). In fact, the demonic homunculi had a digital camera on hand to document the entire event, as she drummed up her specially modulated groupie squeals. Developed it she did, after many instances of logical trial and error to the produce the mellifluous melody, which the stake believed her master appreciated most. Why she imagined it was something like choir bells to him, ohohohohohoho!

"Agh!" alas, not all the individuals included in their present merry company could enjoy her enthusiasm, as evidenced by a disapprovingly frowning Leviathan of Envy, "Won't you knock it off with your harpy bellyaching for once, stupid Monmon! You're screwing up our glorious master's concentration!"

"Oh, really~?" the younger sister played coy, to the deepening frown of the elder.

"Yes! Really!" Leviathan put her foot down.

"U Mad?"

"AIIIIIIEEEEEE!"

To be frank, by The Doctor's muddy recollection, the two Sisters of Purgatory had been bickering all night, since he gave his emergency briefing to all actors involved with tonight's Midnight Carnival. It had been irritatingly exhausting to put the finishing touches on all of his preparations for the bloody festival, not to mention disappointing. Negi had been hoping to have a few more days to make the occasion even more grand and memorable, but when he had heard the official announcement for a scheduled blackout tonight, the advance notice somehow buried at the bottom of his inbox, he had an attack of paranoia.

Because earlier today, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell had actually come to class, behaving in an unbelievably civil manner, as if all the grief they had given each other never was that is to say she merely sat at the back of the class, with an expressionless gaze on her face. Thus rewarded with the gift of hindsight, Negi could look back and say that his final fever-pitched feverish "Sprint" to complete his work and mobilize his force were not in vain. Frankly, the boy genius needed the piece of mind, and the Stakes of Purgatory to keep quarrelling with one another, lest he succumb to exhaustion from inaction.

Heh. Even his dear poison pink polka dot chihuahua had noticed, although she was much too late to correct his course, despite her best intentions perhaps. Komrade Kommissar Anya, clearly, expressed her misgivings to him that he was mad to go challenge the Dark Mistress alone. The Doctor begged to differ.

Negi told Little Big Red in plain, concise language that he had been preparing for many days and nights well in advance, without her help or input. Her concern was duly noted, but unnecessary. Oh, and for the record, if he had somehow forgotten to share the information with her, their present predicament was an unwittingly elaborate test set up by the old raccoon of Mahora Academy in the first place. Therefore, it was imperative that Magister Magi Negi Springfield, not Magister Magi Negi Springfield and Friends, be the one to show the naysayers who was boss!

The Doctor breathed, twisting the illumination knobs a few turns, as he recalled the details of what transpired between himself and Anastasia to keep his numbing faculties on the ball.

And so I naffin' told her to take anything else she had on her mind and to shove it, just like Sakurazaki did, showing up and then leaving like the good little toy Samurai she wants to be. Pactios, help, pishposh, toss it in the bin and forget it; I have too much on my mind to give a damn about her lack of confidence in me. Her only job for tonight is to remain on stand-by and monitor the situation, making sure no harm comes to pass on our principle. Protecting Konoe Konoka-san remains of the utmost importance, well over my welfare, until the delinquent Miss MacDowell has been dealt with. After that she would be free to act...

Which was when his adorable Anya stomped on his foot and stormed off, to Negi's seething discomfort; it could not have been more than half an hour, and then some, ago. What a bother, and here he was hoping she might have been understanding of his circumstances, how her fellow magister magi was up to his eyeballs in sordid conspiracy and wild expectation, but no, the little Ruskie had to go and throw a bloody tantrum! Goodness gracious, it was not as if her life was on the line, because some arsewipe vampire had a begrudgingly broken heart. Could she not have been taken things indifferently like some woefully noble, chivalrous ideal that the misguided Sakurazaki Setsuna-san so aspired to be?

**Bah**. As for the other incorrigible headache on his hit list...

Well, between the time it took for Augustus T. Coletrain to chuckle suggestively at his seemingly off-hand postulation, Doctor N. Springfield already had his answer. Right then, direly, did he wish to visit unholy violence on that scoundrel, The Thousand Master, the unwitting mastermind who had left out this hideously dirty piece of laundry for him to clean some two decades ago, before he was even born, likely. Curse his name and whimsy Negi did, for what were the chances that he would share the same surname and a savvy resemblance to a true to life historical figure?

_Astronomically _**abysmal**, the boy genius reckoned with a derisive snort. But sadly, it was a readily apparent fact that Evangeline A.K. MacDowell had convinced herself of the notion, however delusional, he was some charlatan masquerading as her former desired-boy-bloodpack-friend. So, The Doctor would suffer for the sins of some player he had never met and only read about in passing, deeming the man to be little more than a fickle, hair-brained ape of blowhard justice, hiding in human skin.

The Thousand Master's debauched dalliances were legendary in present popular culture. Any further research on his exploits would be in bad taste, and similarly unhealthy for one's brain cells. Doctor N. Springfield, in particular, very much required his wits sharp, all the time, every time, so he could ponder such things as, why the hell his primary quarry had not responded to his trickery yet? There, inside that sphere of blackness, which robbed the ordinary senses of sight, the sniveling hobgoblin-like darklings could subdue the Dead Apostle's thralls in short order, a fact he was counting on.

Negi would rather not engage his students in close-quarters battle, particularly should Evangeline decide to invest enhancement magic in her pawns. Though far from warriors, the Athletic Trio were all physically fit and trim, and could prove an inconvenient distraction, while he was flanked by bigger threats, such as Chachamaru Karakuri. That said, he did not have the faintest clue why the Dark Mistress had included Ako Izumi (No. 5), the hardworking heart throb manager of the neighboring junior-high boys' soccer club (or so he had been informed by an enamored colleague in the staff room). Shy but athletic, she was still a far cry from her more professional companions.

He could only imagine it was some half-baked impulse on MacDowell's part that landed the school nurse's favorite assistant on her physically coerced entourage. Again, speaking of the rotten blondie living corpse, just what was she doing? In her unbound state, according to the readings his shadowy double sent his way (The Velvet Darkness bless thee, Blackie), before his timely termination, Evangeline should be more than a match for the darklings. Her android, too, ought to be capable of powering her way out of the mess, while the darklings spirited their targets away back to where they belonged, namely in bed.

He would deal with the vampiric cursing later, but right now, Doctor N. Springfield was dying for a target. Cycling the classic bolt action, a simple straight-pull movement on the cocking handle of his brutish magazine-fed rifle, he elicited a satisfying clasp of metal on metal. The weapon longer than the magister magi was tall, chambered a caliber of "Bullet" far more appropriate for hunting armored vehicles than a man-sized target, which said something for his capricious intentions. If MacDowell knew how much he had paid out of pocket to commission this big friggin' gun on short notice, she might have felt an iota of flattery.

It was expensive, all blocks and hard angles, and unfortunately, perishable. The spartan "anti-material rifle", front bipods weighed down by multiple cinder blocks, would not last more than fifteen to thirty rounds of his finest "caster shells", before suffering catastrophic malfunctions from the exorbitant pressures wearing down the insides of the weapon. Nevertheless, when hunting big game, only fools would neglect to tread lightly and bring a bigger gun to the party.

But what is the point of bringing the fun, when there is no party? Negi wrinkled his nose in elevated agitation from his seated position, glasses perched in the crown of his felt hat. Damnation, am I just wasting my time out here?

Then, the wind began to blow, an eerie chilling note in the distance that made his palms itch with a familiar electric tingle. He noticed, at last, the writhing in the sphere of darkness had ceased, no audio, nothing.

"_Stakes_."

Instantly, the Sisters of Purgatory gave pause from their cheery, ambient tomfoolery, tearing and pulling at each other's bountiful locked, and bolted to his beckoning, with an eagerness even dogs would find enviable.

"Yes~, Mas~ter~?"

"Back on the clock and on the lookout. Ready tubes G-Eight and G-Nine. Fire on my mark."

"At once, My Master!"

"As you will, My Master!"

The black heavens rumbled, as the infernal Furniture darted off to carry out his commands. Come to think it, did the meteorologists not forecast this eve with a high chance of thunderstorms? Heh. How appropriate, although The Doctor would not be surprised if someone got struck by lightning tonight, and if he had his way, it would not be him to suffer irony.

Breathing deep and shrugging out the last of the kinks in his shoulders, Negi settled in behind the rifle, peering into the world of the scope. As always, he executed the fundamentals of marksmanship that had been drilled into his too many times to count: high pistol grip, good cheek-to-stock weld, proper sight picture relax, inhale-exhale, find the natural point of aim, and...patience. His moment was coming, the ebon surface of the distant sphere undulating with subtle ripples, building gradually with intensity and volume, unlike the beating of a heartbeat.

Louder and louder, any second now the climax would commence, and the end cometh.

Inhale.

_Exhale_.

The exploding squelch of flesh and something inexplicable grazed his hearing long enough to elicit a flicker of a flinch, before the autocensors clamped down and normalized the audio in his earpieces. The result was plain to see through the green of his scope, magnified many times over, as the slick, mucus encrusted form of Evangeline A.K. MacDowell erupted out of the sphere, like popping a pimple. Frankly, the drowned look suited her, and the only competent help she had was not too far behind.

Oh, he must not forget to engrave every detail of the walking corpse of a gas bag to memory, before taking his shot. Easy now; the look of unadulterated rage looked most exquisite, and try as The Doctor might, he could not imagine a more appropriate expression on that false face. ...Unless the adult form on display at present was her true nature, meaning he would have to reorient his understanding of the despicable Thousand Master's tastes, for confining Evangeline to the fleshy humiliation of a prepubescent child's body. If it was out of his appreciation for irony, Negi could give him one, a tip of the old hat that is. But if it was for more debased reasons...

I already made plans for the rutting bastard should we ever happen to cross paths, Doctor N. Springfield wrinkled his nose at the thought, waiting just a little longer to settle his bobbing sights on the vampire runt's forehead. But I think I can afford to make an addendum: namely, I am going to make sure to excise his ballsack with a _Dentist's _**drill**! Oh~, iihihihihi, what fun I shall have listening to his shrill pleas and squealing, while lucid, paralyzed, and still very much aware of PAIN. Ha ha ha ha!

Malicious schemes aside, his quarry seemed to be busy venting her indignation at poor Chachamaru, who tried to clean the clear mucus off her mistress' ignoble person and soothe her wounded ego to poor effect. Beneath them, the lurching shattered sphere dissipated into motes of spent pure white mana. The enthralled girls of 3-A were long gone, and all that remained now was to do the deed.

Inhale.

_Exhale_.

The breath expelled from his stilled body, Doctor N. Springfield whispered a single word, lost to a passing crack of thunder.

"[_**Bullseye**_]."

To the casual standing observer, nothing had changed about the shooter, but a closer look at his open eye through the scope told a very different picture. A myriad of interlocking rings had appeared in many colors and differing sizes, saturating the glistening surface. Their purpose was far from malicious, and in a orderly process, did the rings begin to swivel and click, realigning in series, forming an ever expanding concentric circle. The boon gifted to the caster was plain to see.

Time became precious for time had become finite and measurable in his grasp. He possessed a brief window where all minute details could brought to the fore for scrutiny, from the running mascara on the Dark Mistress's eyelashes to the serial number indented into the sides of the android's receptor antennas. In fact, Negi could count every strand of hair, just to a prove a point, for the Devil, so some have told, was in the details.

And his intellect, now gifted with accelerated impulses, came under assault from a brutal stampede of calculations, hitting hard and fast, like a professional boxer's one-two combination, for a final firing solution. The ballistics concerned windage and elevation adjustments to account for the obvious external factors: headwind a non issue, his vertical angle a boon, and the ambient air density clocked low humidity, thus an increase in drag. Ah, ah, ah, he must not forget to account for gyroscopic drift due to the spin-stabilized nature of his projectile, too.

_Calculating_...

He had better strike her right on the nose. There were only three shells available in the magazine, one of which was already loaded in the chamber. All non-lethal stunners, of course, except Doctor N. Springfield had taken the liberty of loading them up with enough juice to knock a charging African Elephant flat on its arse and put the fabulous majesty of the plains out for a week.

_Calculating_...

Ding! Firing solution received by shooter, adjusting twenty clicks left and fifteen clicks up. Confirming sight picture alignment within acceptable margins; shooter may commence final firing. Crosshairs centered on the head, ease down on the trigger, make sure of a steady trigger pull, do not anticipate the recoil, and oh hey, did it look like the vampire trollop just turned to look at him? Ha ha ha ha, too late for regrets now.

**Click**.

The convenient rumble of thunder adequately disguised the roar of a supersonic bullet, burning hot enough to slice through the ambient air with a visible contrail of its own. What really inconvenienced The Doctor, other than the expected mule kick from the absurd recoil and even bigger muzzle flash, like a fiery jet of dragon's breath, was the sudden flash of lightning blinding him at the most critical time possible. Negi flinched and Murphy Law, his most ancient enemy, had a ball of laughter.

So much for not being the one struck by lightning; his "Bullseye" had failed. Built-in safeties, immediately, cut mana flow to the spell, saving his watering right eye any more grief than necessary, and the world came rushing back in a dizzying haze, like displaced air moving with a seething hiss to fill a recent vacuum. Instead of suffering a hit straight to the head, MacDowell took a concussive blow to the shoulder, spinning her about like a top, as she fell to earth in shock, partially encased in an expanding crystalline chunk of ice around the affected region. The latter side-effect had been his insurance in case of such a scenario, but he doubted the hindrance would distract a vampire of her caliber for long.

And good grief, Chachamaru was already moving to assist her mistress! How...enviable. What a pity she served a creature wholly undeserving of such loyalty, an oversight Negi would be sure to correct at the victor's table. For now, he needed to move to his "Plan B", post-haste.

"Stakes: MARK. Now!" blinking away the fresh tears, he switched off the night vision assistance before cycling the bolt. Precious heartbeats, nonetheless, were wasted due to a lack thereof a gas-operated semi-loading mechanism, as the Stakes carried out his commands. Exceptional accuracy seemed more important at the time when he ordered the rifle commissioned, considering its short life expectancy. Now, Negi was paying for his decision, scrambling to reacquire his target.

Two sets of distant pops squeaked into the air, illumination flares in bright star clusters lit up the plaza for a shakily standing Evangeline, seemingly fresh from a hangover. The abrupt brightness must have been like a baseball bat to her head; she did flinch and groan, seeking shelter against her servant. An act that saved her, as the neon-haired android now presented a better target of opportunity.

Again, the rifle belched flame with a thunderous roar that Chachamaru did not miss, swiveling her head with eerie certainty in his direction. The second shell dipped in low, to Negi's frustration, slamming into her starkly lit figure in the side. Instantly, did the vampire's headmaid double over, freezing ice crackling around her torso, almost taking Miss MacDowell down for a ride too, had she not pushed her mistress aside.

Should he attempt another "Bullseye"? wondered the magister magi offhand, feeling the sweat already pouring through his hair after one go from his brain's attempts to cool off.

He was said to be a rare breed, gifted with an unusually high concentration of magic circuits in his brain and eyes, which was why such feats of "bio-neural enhancement" sorcery were possible for him. The brain and eyes are rather delicate, critical organs, and an innocuous misstep could mark a very grisly end indeed. He would just have to settle for eyeballing it, nyuk-nyuk.

Alas, the third shot was a total disappointment, the bright, fiery muzzle flash lighting up his entire position, like a blaring light house. Somehow, in her groggy state, the Dead Apostle had enough sense to throw up an arcane shield with her free hand in his general direction. The air in front of her light up in a translucent, crystalline barrier of icy blue, mere scant moments before the shell smashed into its front with a grotesque whipping impact, flooring Evangeline flat on her rump, with a stupefied gawp. Her shield shattered into a million glittering motes of spent mana, a sound not unlike breaking glass, but it had done its intended purpose well.

The Doctor's number was up, and the electric jolting pump had knocked his foe's consciousness ramrod straight. There was no mistake. She was looking him in the eye, straight through the scope in fact, a ferocious cry of pure rage parting her lips. He imagined the out-of-vogue vampire could not believe he would resort to such "cowardly" tactics as sniping at her from afar. In Negi's defense, he only thought it a reasonable exercise in operational risk management. Why bother with sweaty contests of honor when his enemies can be bested while they have their pants down in the loo?

Ha ha ha ha.

"Ho right, chaps! Fall back! FA~LL back!" the magister magi cried maniacally, knocking over the shifted cinder blocks with a few panicked kicks.

He rose to his feet in a heady adrenaline fuel high, ignoring the pained protests of his bruised shoulder, and bent down (at the knees) to haul up thirty kilos (read: sixty-six pounds) of big friggin' gun. Embarrassingly for him, the first attempt had a bit of a false start, resulting in a red-faced Doctor N. Springfield and a lot of nerve, flat on his arse.

"H-Huawhawha! M-Master, quick! Quickly! The bleach blonde twat's started counter-battery fire!"

Again, he bent down, this time ensuring a tight grip on the carrying handle and the small of the brutish buttstock. Offhand, Negi noted the worried stutter in his ear, amidst the abrupt howl of gale force winds, could only belong to Leviathan of Envy. She still had a bad habit of catching nerves when things came under the wire.

"IN~coming~! Kyahhahahaha! Better run for it, M~aster!"

Mammon, just whose side are you on? he offered himself a mental palm to the face. Oh, never mind; how could I forget you spontaneously have a self-serving, self-fulfilling throe of euphoria any time any event has something to do with me?

**Dirty Deeds**...

With great effort, veins throbbing angrily in his arms, shoulders, and neck, Negi hauled the unwieldy firearm up to waist height and began to beat a hasty retreat towards the rooftop access. Privately, he could not help but bemoan that he ought to have rehearsed such an evacuation more, in advance.

"How long do I have?"

"Um, s-seconds, my master?"

"Oo, oo, oo~! Lem'me do the count!"

Trailing smoke and harried footsteps behind him from the still cooling barrel of the B.F.G., the squat doorway was just in sight, and good grief, he had forgotten how long some thirty paces could be in the ephemeral chaos of life-and-death. Negi did not so much need the door right now, as he did absolutely require a shadow. But not just any shadow, it needed to be of sufficient size to accommodate his total mass, and with the blasted moon blocked by clouds, a blessing and a curse in hindsight, he had better crash into that crash bar, dead center, on the first try. No more monkey business with Murphy, thank you very much!

"Three~!"

"What! Three already? Do it over, you mangy nibbling troll! Master has at least...oh, it **is **three."

What a time to have a running commentary, and gracious, he could hear the shrill siren scream of whatever method of vengeance Evangeline had decided upon homing on his position fast.

"One~!"

"Nooo, noo, no! You mush-brained nympho-bimbo. It's two! Still, two~!"

A creeping cool burn (or was it a chill?) nipped at the hairs on the back of his neck, like the rumored roving hands of an eager lover, ready to take him forever into her embrace. How unfortunate; The Doctor would have to refuse such an bold advance at present time. He was very much interested in living, see?

"Mash the X button, Master! Mash it. Smash it. Oooo~, gr~ind it! Kiyahahahha!"

"How filthy! Dirty! W-Wha-wha-wait! Now isn't the time for pillow talk! It's one! One~!"

Oh, rot it all. Magister Magi Negi Springfield unleashed the bowel tingling fear he kept repressed for so long, letting his mind go blank, and his legs pump like mad in the run for his life. Was that a door? Oh hell to all obstacles, he would just have to run straight through it!

"AAIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE~!"

Scream he did, like a glamorous, hair metal rocking front man, snot and tears pouring from the appropriate orifices, as the world exploded in a cracking flash freeze of crystal _white_.

YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHh!

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Wow. It's done. This appetizer has been a long, long time a-comin'. It took me a full twenty days for this release, although to be fair, I've only been back in NOVA since August 14th. Therefore, I'm actually on my usual weekly serialization schedule. Not bad for having my brain turn into pure muscle for two weeks and then coming back to civilization, having to unwind, and get back to flexing my softer side, right?

Though I admit I feel a little bit out of the groove from usual. Must be because the experience in North Carolina made me even more salty and jaded. Oh well, it is what it is, eh?

As for this chapter, I imagine, some folks are disappointed by the lack of all out action, but on the other hand, I had a lot of cerebral baggage from the last couple chapters that needed to be ironed out here too. Also, there is some critical thought process material that happens in the actual episode, which I felt were worth executing to set the stage / context for the violence to take place. Don't worry, you action gluttons, the next chapter will have a lot less introspection, a lot more badass boasts, and oh, arse kicking, although I admit I feel remorse in having to skip so much character development in this chapter.

I could have really made some steps with Anya and Setsuna, but it'll just have to wait another time.

That said, I hope this appetizer was worth the wait, as we move into the entrees. There's quite a bit of interesting things going on here, pop culture, characters, experiments in style, and I tried to do some new British-isms. You might ask what I did exactly? Well, I've decided to experiment with Cockney Rhyming Slang. I'm not sure if I'm going to make it bog standard, but I think injecting it every now and then seems like fun, plus I can cheat the censors, since I didn't explicitly drop the F-bomb, eh? You have to dissect the phrase and turn it over in your head, maybe even research it, before you'll make the connections.

And as a stand alone if you don't understand it at all, I still think they're pretty funny too, adding to The Doctor's partially loony status, no?

What else is there I ought to talk about? Hrnnn, can't think of anything... Oh wait, yes, I was serious. Negi's preferred "Battle Dress" is cowboy-inspired. For visual references / inspiration, check out Haken Browning from Super Robot Wars OG Saga: Endless Frontier, and The Last Kusagari, AKA the titular player character, from Ubisoft's Red Steel 2. Why he likes the outfit so much will become clear in time, although I've already referenced a bounty hunting Mister Browning once, not to mention The Doctor's battle monologue about speed, violence of action, quick draws...

Dohohohohohohoho. We'll see. We'll see. Not to mention, I think, it's appropriate for his image. He sells himself as a gentleman but is a scoundrel at heart really, who would not hesitate to resort to dastardly tactics to get his way. A full tailored suit and tie are great for a white collar occasion, but when it comes time for things to get heavy, form should follow function, don't you think?

Ha ha ha, I'm such a Wild West fanboy at times.

What else? I'd talk about the sorcery The Doctor employed here, but since I'm going to touch base with it a bit more in-depth in the entree, I think we can afford to wait.

And that's a wrap for me. Thank you for tuning in, and I hope you all were entertained. Kudos to the reviewers, and don't forget to let your voices be heard; a little engagement and interest helps keep my creative motor burning at night.

See you all at the next gig.

Peace.


	19. Chapter 19

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. BEWARE: This Chapter is a special Double-Issue production. You are getting two weeks of content right here, right now, uncut, and in your face. I really wish there had been a better way to do this, but this is how the madness in my brain turned out. If you got a problem with it, blame Akamatsu for busting out like 40-60 pages of material, which is three periods / chapters from the manga volume, to conclude the Dark Evangel arc. This is NUTS. Probably the most EPIC undertaking I have ever achieved. Godspeed, my brethren!

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 19:

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap!

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

"He was here, wasn't he?" Evangeline growled.

The loathsome rooftop, once occupied by her nocuous foe, had taken on a most gelid atmosphere, transformed into a prickly forest of razor sharp, crystalline ice formations by her will. A fitting prison she could just as easily rearrange into his grave, with a fickle flick of snap of the fingers, shattering his entrapped body into a millionfold pieces, never to be made whole again. Alas, the Dark Evangel required her prey alive, the thought of which did little to soothe her exacerbated ego, writhing in shame. From here, it was plain to see that the whole time he stood poised only two blocks away, watching on gleefully as she made a fool of herself, falling for his ruse, hook-line-and-sinker!

"Please, allow me to speak: _ojou_-sama," Chachamaru's dry tones almost seemed to eye her askance, in the cool churning air. Though, surely, it was a trick of the senses, caused by the reverberating thrum of the arcanotech repulsor thrusters, so did the Dark Mistress convince herself lest she throttle the only competent help she had on hand. "I think it bears repeating that our present recourse is ill-advised. The enemy demonstrated exceptional planning in advance, not to mention the wisdom to engage in guerrilla tactics."

And verily such foresight hit way too close to home, it was like a redux of Evangeline's last battle with that other bastard, granted a modern redux, which was fast on its way to eclipsing her ultimate humiliation.

"Likely, he is armed with a large-caliber magic gun of unknown make, capable of delivering powerful ordinance accurately at long range, which naturally compliments his strategy. We have lost our pieces, and I sense this terrain no longer favors us. Our flying about brazenly in the open will only invite disaster."

"So he likes rare antiques?" Eva snapped back at her servant, with a waspish sneer. "Big~ Dea~l! I wager there's a hole in his wallet I can fit a fist thorough, thanks to such frivolous squandering."

Chachamaru being Chachamaru hardly batted an eye, "With all due respect, t'would be best not to assume he is out of '_bullets_', ojou-sama."

"Ooohh? And should I ask if he is-**was **a millionaire before, or AFTER I pull his entrails inside-out and string him from the moon like banners at a slapdash confetti saturated parade, hmm?"

In fact, the neon-haired android would have been more concerned, if her young miss was not misbehaving like a haughty heiress, spoiled by wealth and privilege, from an old blood family. It was an apt smokescreen to distract outsiders from the dark, foreboding anxiety of her many insecurities. Thoughts of which she must be entertaining right now, Chachamaru reckoned, as Evangeline swept her piercing gaze, empowered by a combination of biology and sorcery, over and over the frosted covered rooftop.

No. No, no, no, NO! I mustn't waver now! The real battle had yet begun, and the Dark Evangel would be damned if she let her proud spirit be broken by such cowardly tactics before they met in a true contest of power. If the false Springfield was not here, then it could only mean he had fled to a new-

Her thoughts came to a shrieking halt, enticed by the red glare of rockets. Overhead, the bombs burst loudly in the perilous night, like cannon fire, saturating the air with smoke and acrid sulfur. Though the occasion called for war, the charlatan, Springfield, had other plans in mind.

"Wh, what! F, f, Fireworks?" Evangeline gaped, bewildered by the dazzling contradiction of her expectations.

All across campus, the opening movement alone sorted out traditional peonies, bursting into spherical breaks of colored stars that burned brightly, as time-released roman candles soared higher in fanning arcs to deposit a trail of sparkling stars in their wakes. Verily it seemed clear that no expense had been spared the choreographed phantasmagoria, openly glorifying many a prismatic color and spark in stars, moons, hearts, and more. If she were a greater fool, the Dark Evangel might have missed the obvious message inlaid into the festive, bombastic display.

"You, Great Sucker, are lost! Find your way back to your hole in Turdburglingville, but BE~ware the Savvy Doctor N. Springfield! HE. DOES. NOT. LIKE. YOU! KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE!"

Ten-thousand strong worth of maiming curses, concerning one's genitalia, defecation, urination, eating habits, and grandsire, instantly popped to mind in the boiling black choler of Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, the much offended Dark Mistress. But, The Doctor, and what a charm he is, was not close to finished, signing his note with a suspect smiley face. He was the master of ceremonies, after all, and it would be proper not to announce the beginning of the festivities.

"Stage 1 - Easy Mode - BEGIN!"

In hindsight, Evangeline admitted, privately, she should have seen the punchline coming, which her nemesis so did love. A regular comedian, was he not, huh? Ha ha ha ha. It was not like the vampire was trying to get her servant turned into a pile of scrap metal by way of ignoring Chachamaru's tactical assessment, an algorithm that grew as an off shot from her problem solving applications after reading a treatise on War by the superb Sun-Tzu. Indeed, the dutiful neon-haired android was correct in every way, as she sounded the alarm.

"Mistress, danger!"

By some fluke (although really, she was just paying extra careful attention to their surroundings, instead of being enthralled by Springfield's marvelous display), Chachamaru spotted the savvy sniper before all hope might be lost. Gunning her magically powered repulsor thrusters to full, she was already accelerating rapidly to thwart the attack, motivated more by duty than reason, when she gave the word. Alas, her cry and the blasting rapport quite neatly overlapped one another in a whistling shriek.

Like a thunderclap, one second she was up in the air, the next second Evangeline discovered herself snatched from the air, taking refuge in the prickly ice mangrove of her own creation. Two silhouettes huddled together in the transparent shadows, as mournful streaks of neon green fluttered briefly, before being carried away in the insidiously laughing wind. It was...a cathartic experience.

"Eva-sama," Chachamaru began, not the slightest bit fazed by sudden exertion, "I regret to inform you, but I have been _nicked_."

"What, why?" Evangeline shrieked back shrilly, flabbergasted and unaware of the onset of hyperventilation, a most human-like response.

"Radiator Lines, Groups A thru D have been cut. Cooling capacity is down fifty-five percent."

"GIYAAaaaaaaaa! Y-your hair!"

How histrionic, if Chachamaru Karakuri were capable of emoting her objective detachment, she might have rolled her eyes at the venting Dark Mistress. Truly, it was unbecomingly irrational behavior to treat a servant's hair as her own.

"Yes, my radiator lines. I anticipate a drop in optimal performance by fifteen to thirty percent, as the engagement becomes drawn out. And for the record, I believe his retaliation answers your earlier question."

"Th, that bastard. That screwy rat bastard! He shot your hair!" Evangeline stated the obvious.

Inwardly, the neon-haired android raised a brow, and after some contemplation, decided on an innocent experiment, "The tit-for-tat, by my best prognostication, was meant for yours originally, my mistress."

"He SHOT your hair off!"

Ah, it appeared her ladyship was completely delirious. ...What a catastrophe. Chachamaru might have shed tears, if the saline-based wiper fluid solution excreted near her nasal-optical pores was not a homebrew concoction of Windex.

"Eva-sama, please, allow me to speak: I am not bald, if that is what you suggest. This is a serviceable, if raggedy, and inefficient chin-length cut, due to the inadequacies of the materials used in my radiator lines, but we are digressing, and time, how unfortunate, is not on our side. Seventy-minutes and thirty-eight seconds remain. Please, your orders?"

"_Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii_! That son_uva_**whore**. I'll make _him_. Make him. MAKE HIM. PAY! Let's go, Chachamaru!"

Through looking glass of her digitized rationale, Chachamaru Karakuri felt tact, once again, to be the better part of valor, for she doubted her hot-blooded mistress would appreciate the gloomy forecast that their chances of victory had dropped another twenty percentage points. By all stretches of logic, they were in dire straits, an inconvenient truth the Dark Mistress utterly refused to acknowledge. The enemy was no vainglorious warrior come to a contest of honor between those of noble blood and thinner hides.

Magister Magi Negi Springfield was a doctor, come to excise the cancer called "Boredom". To date, the boy professor was doing a "bang-up" job, by every stretch of the definition, in keeping the Dark Evangel, entertained. Shame, her mistress did not comprehend just how much "fun" she was having, and that somewhere along the way, she had lost sight of her original mission.

A goal the little vampire was doomed to never meet, for the savvy Mister Springfield, a devout professional, was the best assassin of them all, killing with kindness. Nevertheless, Chachamaru Karakuri, loyal robotic maidservant, saw no reason to ride out in burnished plate and tarnished arms against the debased host of futility. After all, she was only capable of accomplishing what Evangeline A.K. MacDowell could do for herself.

If the Dark Evangel lacked the wisdom to see her own folly, than what better teacher can there be than experience the father, and memory the mother?

* * *

With a creaking bang of hinges badly in need of grease, the metal service hatch flew open, expelling a blackened miasma of smoke and spark. There, the jingle-jangle of spurs accompanied tapping feet, and a tiring soul, as Doctor N. Springfield emerged out from one of the maintenance access struts of the Mahora Bay Bridge. Soot and the acrid stench clung to his person like an air of cologne, unpleasant, and so prodigious that windswept attentions could not excoriate him fast enough for his liking.

Still, it was doing wonders to keep him awake, he noted jadedly, nostrils flaring for a breath of air, relatively fresh, before ducking back inside the service strut. Within, the rap of banging metal and methodical rummaging hinted at some arduous labor quite unlike his usual profession, but a task that the magister magi carried out in grim patience. He was unhappy, and the tearing of a wrapper could per chance be interpreted as a sign of the last straw that broke the camel's back.

"She is a bloody PLONKER~, I tell you!" Negi mumbled glibly between cheery, chocolatey mouthfuls of a protein bar that was as appetizing as powdered milk. "And a skanky, manky knob-headed tart, who hastens me towards the end of my tether!"

Screeching in protest, as he dragged its twisted metal hulk behind him, came the remains of what was left of the valiant big friggin' gun. Per The Doctor's expectation, a catastrophic failure did occur roughly a few scant minutes ago, blowing up quite spectacularly in his face to much chagrin, and leaving little time to effect a narrow escape. The protection afforded by the added shield runes to his Bodhi blastia, thankfully, took the brunt of the trauma, leaving him mostly unscathed, save for the soot and a light symptom of nausea.

None of the explosion would have got through had the marvel of arcanotech been operating at full power, but Negi liked his hand to be kept secret, and milk his unsuspecting foes for all they were worth. Still, fighting non-stop for the better part of an hour, while coordinating his _furniture _to launch diversionary fireworks at his precise leisure, was a drudging affair that eroded away at the small glimmer of cool rationale peeking through the boy magister's bloodshot eyes. Even now, he struggled to beat back the wandering fangs of exhaustion, teasing at the corners of his vision with delusions of ravishing exemplars in tantalizing fetish attire.

Glasses, turtle neck sweaters, garter belts... The Doctor could almost give in and let R.E.M. handle the rest.

But to be frank, he had not been fighting on even terms, more like putting on a show to amuse a rotten, bored brat, who seemed to delight in, as much as she shrieked, tripping over every trap and ambush he had orchestrated in advance. The Dead Apostle might not have much for brains, but evidently she had him beat by miles for incredulous stamina and boundless enthusiasm. Everywhere MacDowell followed his spoor, she only left ice and fire as gifts, attributed to her personal signature of artistic destruction, hinting at some malign neurosis in the recesses of her lacking conscience.

Clearly, the Dark Evangel did not care in the slightest how much she suffered through his mocking castigation of her sins, a "shock therapy" The Doctor had designed just for his deluded patient. How ironic that the tables had turned somewhere along the way, and the torturer now suffered similarly to his maggot infested canvas.

"A masochist of the worst degree she must be, and beyond a shadow of a doubt, bored out of her skull," Negi said aloud, distaste evident in his iron tones, as he dropped the hunk of metal at last, ceasing its unpleasant squeals. "I have been giving that parasite what she has been wanting for quite possibly the longest time ever, an intricate lesson in shame and humiliation, and it vexes me."

Surveying the scene briefly, a vast panorama of the distant burning waterfront to his fore and the inky, dark bay to his rear, ready to gobble any victim thrown off the main concourse of the Mahora Bay Bridge, he came to be, oddly, satisfied. For everything was coming to a head soon, and here was a good place as any to unfurl the folding steel chair he carried in the nook of his free arm.

"I do not like being a tool of convenient bemusement, especially for the megalomaniac I am consulting towards rehabilitation. I do not exist for their pleasure. Oh no, no no no, it is the other way around, and at first, everything was fine, until I happened across the naked truth. Ah, tsk, tsk, how amateurish of me for not seeing this conclusion coming sooner. This Mahora Academy, truly, breeds the worst brand of acedia."

He sat down sulkily in a thud of rustling cloth. What a shame, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell succeeded in sucking out all of his fun and leaving him bitter in tonight's spectacle, all that hardwork for naught. Because over the course of the hour, she had demonstrated to a fault that she possessed the hunting instincts of a trained dachshund. Enthusiastic. Moronically stubborn. Incapable of sentient thought outside the paradigm of its box, and will never eat what the master has killed, lest it is fed so. Indeed, the fault of her recent rebelliousness may lie in his own unwitting presence, and as much as Negi hated to admit it, but the old men here at Mahora Academy may have succeeded in utterly domesticating a Dead Apostle.

That THING, is just like any hunky dory human, thought The Doctor bitterly. _Amazing_. It's like she's _forgotten _how to be a Dead Apostle. Many are megalomaniacal beasts, admittedly, but they are cunning predators not to be trifled with lightly. Decades to centuries of hunting humans tends to train them very well to the act, but MacDowell... She is awful. Just. Awful. Pampered. **Spoiled**.

Stll, the showdown at Mahora Bay Bridge, a classic suspension bridge adorned with tasteful stonework that promised a two-hundred foot easy neck breaking drop in still waters below; oh yes, the magister magi liked the ring of his climatic event already. It might just be enough to salvage what was left of tonight's show.

"Ooo, ooo, Ma~ster, where do you want these?" emoted a ponderous duffel bag, stuffed to the seams, nearly to bursting, with a saucy girlish voice that it clearly could not produce.

To the naked eye, a train of luggage had dogged his footsteps since his departure from the service struts, suspended in mid-air by some unholy force, which was not far off the mark. The Stakes of Purgatory were made of materials that required some assistance to be viewed properly in the standard "grounded" spectrum of the known world. Oh, and they were technically related to demons, so the part about "unholy" force had some merit too, though Negi admitted it was somewhat shameful to ask his finest _furniture _to perform such a menial task as baggage handling.

Note to self: hire a footman or page in the future, strong, loyal, easy to please, flexible like a darkling, amusing, and can hold his weight long enough for the cavalry to arrive at the very least, thought the boy professor, as he gesticulated noncommittally into the air. It reflects poorly on me as the Lord of the House to employ my choice of tools improperly. The Stakes deserve better.

Unknowing of his ruminations, Mammon and Leviathan, meanwhile, took his consent as a sign to do whatever they well pleased. Similar to gleeful children on Christmas morning, the conniving black-hearted sisters tore apart the bags, with all the grace of vultures ripping up a fresh carcass, to get at their contents. Elongated nails, painstakingly painted to crimson perfection, doubled easily as razor sharp claws on a whim, and the squealing material did not last long, under the frenetic, yet purposeful onslaught.

Drums of canisters, volatile shells, danger-marked rockets, and various mortar-style launchers of many sizes and lengths emptied onto and disappeared from the asphalt, as fast as the demonic homunculi went about their respective agenda. That is to say, they moved like bullets, darting to and fro in an unintelligible blurry cacophony, likened to a swarm of cackling killer bees, if the flying arthropods could vocalize such an expression. In closing, the work was done equally as fast as the time Kaede Nagase gave a demonstration of her more "unusual" talents, minus the excessive amounts of smoke afterwards.

"Fir~st!" Mammon squealed, a sharp rapport akin to a gunshot announcing her shadow falling upon his back.

The tawny-haired homunculi's arms, too, would have swept him into a lurid embrace against her ample bosom had she not been forced to back step with a giggle, pirouetting about with preternatural grace to avoid an identical "buzzing" bullet. Leviathan of Envy came close but failed to even nick a lock of hair from her eager younger sister, much to chronically green-eyed girl's chagrin.

"Rrrr..." she hissed like an angry cat, bodily interposing herself as an obstacle from the facetiously smiling latter. "No. no. NO! I'm FIRST, stupid, stu-pid, Mon-mon~!"

"Kiyahahahaha! My, my, as expected of Levia-nee, still a so~re lo~ser, I see? ...Even when I gave you a headstart out of the GOOD-ness of my heart, huh? Huh~!"

"Wh, what're you blabbering about now? Y, you...you idiot! We both started at, the same time, di-didn't we?"

Mammon's smile widened. It was no big secret that the Seven Sisters of Purgatory all possessed a cunning mean streak, polished through constant competition and jockeying amongst the stakes for the favor of their master. Verily, they were more like a intensely knit together wolf pack than any mere human family unit, and the consequences of weakness, suffice to say, did not require much imagination. Emboldened by her elder sister's apparent uncertainty, an unfortunate failing of character that try as Leviathan might she could never correct for want of confidence, she flitted closer, fingers fluttering dangerously up her sides like the curious reflex of a spider's mandibles toying with its prey.

Luckily for poor Leviathan, always doomed with the short end of the stick somehow or another, Doctor N. Springfield was feeling unusually kind at the moment, and felt it appropriate to head off a potentially distracting bloodbath.

"Hnn, did you two have something for me, my dears?" he spoke up in casual conversation, while scrutinizing the bright, burning vista before him. In fact, the grounds of Mahora Academy did look one huge bonfire, with the added ostentation of prickly ice sculptures.

Indeed, it was well and good the magister magi had planned his route towards the waterfront, considering the ominous testament to the Dead Apostle's destructive, rampaging tantrum he beheld now. MacDowell had left no shadowy rooftop, black alleyway, or unlit street corner he chose to ambush her from unscathed, conducting a commendable scorched earth campaign to deprive him of his old haunts. Personally, Negi never intended to flank her rearguard once he managed to coax his delusional delinquent of a patient to move, but he could offer her a tip of his hat for her thoroughness.

It was quite professional of her, unexpected but not _un_-gratifying, which was more than he could say for the awkward stares The Stakes were furtively shooting his way. Clearly, they were mystified he had dismissed their rowdy antics so curtly.

"Beg your pardon, savvy-like," Negi sniffed in wry tones. "See, I was just so absorbed in puzzling out the bloodsucking parasite's sudden upsurge of power. Care to join me?"

Correction: he had noticed but they had not been saucy enough, apparently so. Oh well, Mammon resolved to try harder next time to alleviate her glorious master from the burdens of boredom.

"Oh, why bother, Master? You have me! The mar~velous, magnificent Praetor of Greed! Won't you reconsider allowing me to stand at your side? It's still not to-"

Not wishing to be outdone, despite being lost to the greater workings of her circumstances, Leviathan bravely cut in to stake her claim as well.

"No way! I, the Arbitrator of Envy, won't stand for it. Choose me, my Master! There is no one better suited than I to _**forgive **_the sins of-"

Ah, what carefree lives they lead, his Stakes. It was apparent they had already forgotten his briefing, detailing all the reasons for his grandstanding campaign against the Dark Evangel in some uncertain terms. Oh well, The Doctor supposed, it could not hurt to remind them and himself of why he would shed some bled tonight, if need be.

"You do me both proud, but no."

"N-n...NOOoo? B, But, Master Springfield!" The Stakes chorused mournfully as one. It never ceased to amuse him how they could pick the oddest moments to show some solidarity.

Negi chuckled, "There will be no point to all of this, EV-erything that is, unless I pull out the Dark Evangel's fangs, with my own two hands, and corral that overconfident buffoon as my own achievement. Hell, if I have my way? ...which **I will**. Girls, I promise, you will have yourselves a brand new _pet_, kuh-huhuhuhuhu! _**Believe me**_."

His dastardly plan, as expected, was more than enough to smooth over any trampled egos. Mammon excitely ensnared her speechless elder sister in a most delightful embracing, nuzzling the other cheek to cheek, like an affectionate cat.

"Kya, kya, kya~! Big sis, big sis, did you hear that? A pet! A pet! _Eeeeeeeee_, a pet!"

Leviathan, overwhelmed by the moment, was neatly brought to tears. Shame, she failed to appreciate the rare, touching display of affection from her sibling.

"Oh~, My Master! Thank you, thank you, oh, thank you so much~!"

"Ha ha ha ha, good girls. Now, by my command: FIRE."

Twenty-one mortars, acting in concert, to lob now shrilly trilling iridescent shells of colorfully volatile composition into the air from various points, running the full length of the Mahora Bay Bridge, made for an excellent "shock and awe" salute. Professor Negi Springfield had to admit, the fireworks were well worth every last shilling he spent; they reminded him of his fondest memories. Fields of battle long past on a world - good grief, what world was it again? Ugh, it must be exhaustion trying to spirit him away into the land of dreams again.

Buck up, Springfield, thought the magister magi ruefully, a finger messaging his temples. It is not over, until you break that fang, vice addicted trollop over your knee and spank her bottom red, ha ha ha ha! But, really, just how long is it going to take for her to reply? Do not tell me she fell asleep already?

The message he inscribed into the tempestuous empyrean above, complete with a flipping middle finger, could not have been a more flamboyant invitation, and a bigger target painter.

"Final Boss Here! Come and get your savvy, red hot arsewhoopping and surgical teeth pulling action for MIL~LIONS of points! Tonight, a limited-time offer to all turd sniffing, flea-bitten, flat broke bloodsuckers EV~erywhere!"

As boneheaded as she was, at least in his best comprehension, Negi was not disappointed when his autosenses set to active scanning, picked out the distant pinprick "burn up" in a sudden rise of mana consumption. Though partially concealed from the naked eye, thanks to the prodigious plumes of smoke rising form the burning waterfront, his A.R. glasses quickly acquired and plotted the probable courses of the Dead Apostle's retribution. Ignited in mid-flight, the three once invisible projectiles transformed into glacial blue comets; careening through the air in mighty arcs, they trailed of beautifully glistening snowflakes.

Their terrible beauty reminded The Doctor of great balls of plasma, lobbed from the abdomens of a native species of giant arthropod on a certain arid death world he had the unfortunate pleasure of exploring. Whoever said a case of flatulence could not be lethal to others had never met, obviously, blaster bugs. On the other hand, the lumbering mammoths made for excellent improvised explosives, with an impressive mushroom cloud-style blast radius numbering in the hundreds of meters, incinerating just about anything it touches and "glassing" the rest.

"Lord, now would be an opportune time to effect your egress," whispered a cool, husky voice by his ear that evoked chilling recollections of nightfall and many glowing eyes, dispassionate, waiting, watching, and hungering.

"Back already, Blackie? And here I thought you had abandoned me for the eve," Negi chuckled dryly, as the illuminating comets of frost drew ever nearer that he might appreciate their enormity.

The very air churned and chilled with an unpleasant turbulence at their approach, but The Doctor was not terribly affronted, having been thoroughly traumatized by artillery fire under danger close proximity. The Master always did have a bad habit of cutting things a bit close. Likewise, his enemies never received the opportunity to file a complaint against him either, so all that begins well ends well, or something to that effect.

Blackie, of course, did not need to be told to take the initiative, being a perfectly intelligent creature in his (or its) own right. Tendrils of inky blackness, like a spreading oil slick, seeped out from within the folds of Negi's clothes, little pockets of shadow, to assist the main effort that was creeping out from his silhouette. A great maw filled with many writhing ridges, identical to baleen actually, took shape and form, stitching itself together on the fly, until it was overshadowing the unconcerned mage, ready to swallow him whole in a flash.

"Have you had enough yet, lord?"

"Can I not play in the snow a weebit longer, my servant?"

The comets were so very bright now, almost blinding really. He just did not want to take his eyes off of them.

"I think not."

With a crude thump, the maw slammed shut, taking the savvy mage, chair and all, deep within to where only he dared to tread boldly. Outside, the comets lived up to their billing, although their accuracy varied wildly thanks to the somewhat extreme distance. The first sailed well past the main concourse, sending a shudder through the vast suspension bridge, before exploding upon the water in a great freezing geyser of ice and spray, shooting hundreds of feet into the tempestuous air. The second faired no better, thrown wildly off course to strike the flanks of a pylon, shattering in another vivid display crystalline vapors and ice that earned a wounded creaking cry from the unfortunate bridge.

It was only the third who found its target, splashing down in a flashing freeze of white that flowered into a razor sharp forest, worthy of any forsaken tundra. Indeed, The Doctor's "black igloo" seemed miniscule in comparison and was smothered in its crackling, frigid embrace instantly. And when the Dark Evangel's party arrives a scant few minutes later, far more raggedy and sooty than the flippant prey (or was he a predator?) they sought out, verily did Evangeline A.K. McDowell sing her praises.

"HA HA HA HA HA! TAKE. THAT," the arrogant vampire crowed madly, from high above, before settling down on an untouched patch of asphalt. "You impudent whelp! Thought you could run~ and hi~de from ME, forever, didn't you? Huh? DIDN'T YOU!"

Appropriately, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell struck a terrible figure, maniac glee in her eyes and her tattered cape billowing in the wind, while her ever stoic servant stood by her side. Though, to be perfectly frank, the neon-haired android, Chachamaru Karakuri, looked a little worse for wear at the moment, and even she admitted she could use a change of clothes and a tune-up. The harrowing struggle just to arrive at the final stage of Springfield's festival had left her dangerously close to the territory of scandalizingly underdressed, a nigh unbearable trespass for a servant programmed to hold herself to the highest esteem of decorum.

"Please, allow me to speak: Eva-sama, it is likely this is another trap," Chachamaru spoke plainly, although a romantic observer might happen to catch a hint of resigned weariness about her voice.

How unfortunate her estimation was right on the money for the entire span of the Mahora Bay Bridge promptly resonated with absurdly loud horns, the call of war. And even the inexhaustible ego of Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, self-professed queen of the night, was not match for the shear volume, forced to clamp down on her ears and lean against her servant for support. Chachamaru faired better but not by much, feeling the reverberations ratcheting straight through her frame.

Across from them, the impromptu ice prison shuddered once, then splintered, cracks opening from top to bottom with a hiss of steam that let loose a revolting black ooze. Tiny quivering forms, like maggots and worms, could be seen in the ooze, almost like a amniotic fluid disturbingly enough, which earned a disgusted shriek from Evangeline. She might not able to hear very well at the moment, but she sure as hell was not blind.

And emerging thereafter from the rapidly evaporating ice flow, a contemptuous boom of laughter echoed forth that could only belong to one pernicious basterd, thanks to his love for flashy theatrics.

"Oh no, my dear delinquent pupils! I think I have had just about all the deceit I can stand in the hopes of wearing you two fools down."

Doctor N. Springfield stood up and flourished his perturbed guests a bow, as the eerie black ooze receded into his own shadow, taking all of the Dead Apostle's magick'd ice with it.

"About time you showed up, _Miss _MacDowell. I was almost worried you somehow got Kate Moss'd on the winding road of life and had to squeeze out a few more maggots from your Mother Goose hole, due to a sudden affliction of adulterous fanny spreading. It would have thrown quite the spanner into my plans, you see?"

Lightning flashed and thunder howled before Evangeline could thunder her wounded retort, but in the ephemeral span of stark whiteness, she saw a glimpse of a vision that made her reconsider the occasion. Evidently, the Dark Mistress was letting a little bit too much blood get to her head, if somehow she could perceive smoldering azure eyes, like the haunting otherworldly light of will-o-wisps, beneath those orange-tinted lenses of Springfield's glasses. He reminded her of a demon, the notion of which was utterly preposterous.

This impostor, this charlatan masquerading as The Thousand Master was no more than a barely uplifted ape that thought it had gained a measure of power! It was high time she took this challenge seriously and give him the punishment he so rightly deserved for tarnishing her memories.

"Hmph, talk is cheap, _Sen_~_sei_. Shouldn't you know better that it's always the cocksure loudmouths who go down screaming the loudest? BEG-ging for forgiveness, when there's none to be given?"

The Master had not raised no god blinkered fool, and immediately, The Apprenticed sensed their had been a change in the air, his shoulders stiffening similarly to a wolf on the alert. His prey, the monster, had changed, and he needed to wrangle it back into his game, fast.

"How droll you would speak of such things. **Ha ha ha ha**. For a moment there, you nearly fooled me with a semblance of intelligence, but alack, now I know it to be true that a rotting lukewarm cadaver can never imitate life."

The Dead Apostle seethed angrily, bearing her fangs in a snarl, but she was not a broken yet. He could see the faint glimmer of rational still valiantly keep her baser instincts in check, and yet... Why had her servant not moved to soothe or defend her? How curious. Very. Curious.

Negi grinned, raising up his right hand in customary fashion to prop up his glasses, a quirk he had exhibited many times in class. Perfectly harmless, see?

"But since you are so apparently convinced of your uprightness, how about I postulate a question, hmm?"

Evangeline's snarl eased into a vulgar sneer, her hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically with an eager tic, ready to do violence at a moment's notice.

"A question? Now~? Are you really so desperate to prolong your miserable life, _Mis~ter_ Springfield? Hmm?"

"Oh, my malapert pupil, you misunderstand so much. Do you not recognize how chuffed to pieces I am to be able to have this paramount conversation with you? No? Ah, how disappointing, but questions exist to be asked, and so it begs to be known: has it **ever **crossed your bloomin' excuse for a brain that we really need to do this? Is your maggot infested ego so huge? And your flimsy flesh so thin, as to be on the verge of bursting that you would ask for the euthanizing touch of my blade to lay bare your many falsehoods, and spill all the sinful putrid puss and noxious gas from your bloated, perverted corpse? Huh!"

The blackened empyrean flashed white again, crisscrossing forked tongues of lightning jumping from thundering clouds with every flamboyant word spoken.

"Ha ha ha ha! What _**foolishness**_. ...You are already dead, _Miss _Evangeline. Athanasia. Katherine. MacDowell! But fear not, if that is your fondest wish, I will free you of your misery and give you the blessing of dying as a human... TODAY!"

The air snapped with a crisp, cold frost, the only warning before the blood curling spike of murder hit him dead on, but it was not a perfume the young hunter found alien. If anything, he had missed it. He was now wide awake, more conscious of anything in close to half a year of tedium, and the true monster revealed in all of its grotesque glory, screaming harpy-like, charging at him in a flurry of yellowy locks, fangs bared, claws lengthened, and pitiless pitch-black eyes with little red pin pricks of illusory delusions flickering in their bottomless depths... Well, she might as well have been moving in slow motion.

The Apprentice grinned, and with a casual pivot of his back foot, he spun about, hardly hurried by the fast approaching stampede of sharp footsteps, stripping away at the asphalt. The graceful movement was an admission of a lie he had told, for in truth, he never tired of deception. After all, in the wise words of an old general: "All warfare is based on deception. The general who wins a battle makes many calculations in his temple ere the battle is fought. The general who loses a battle makes but few calculations beforehand. Thus do many calculations lead to victory, and few calculations to defeat."

The result spoke for itself, loudly, with the bang of a whistling **steel **chair. Instantly, the monster whipped back, reeling from the concussive shock, a trail of red ejecting from its bent nose, but a monster is a monster, and he had to beat the monster out of the girl to get the girl back. So, The Apprentice waded into the fray, smashing it again and again, with such violence that the metal in his hands squealed and fatigued.

"**Pow**!" went the fangs, "_Bamf_! went the claws, and "Ooof!" went the screaming, but ah, the steel chair was no longer of any use. He discarded the misshapen thing with frightening ease, tossed over his shoulder to clatter uselessly some distance away, as his wand darted out from the folds of his sleeve.

"[_Wingardium Leviosa_] Alpha-Twenty-One!"

The Apprentice gestured towards the twisted lump of metal, once an expensive magic rifle and now to be bent towards a new purpose. Levitating off the ground by the power of sorcery, it was plain to see what intent its owner had all thirty kilos worth of its dead weight, molded unintentionally in such that it made for an attractive improvised - wrecking ball.

"[_Oppugno_] _**Les Misérables**_!"

Still not cured of her swooning or blind bloodlust, the Dead Apostle was in for a rude second helping of pain. And what an eye opener it was too, the first blow striking right across her brow. Swift as the slash of a blade, each sundering attack swung by the disturbingly practiced hand of The Apprentice, in the manner of a whip, threw his foe to and fro in a merciless turbulent whirlwind. With clinical detachment, he extracted blood, spittle, and hair, split bone, broke skin, and tore the haughty fabric from her very body.

Indeed, none could argue against the gravity of the horrifying spectacle, but neither could they dispute its effectiveness: those pitch-black eyes of a heartless monster receded within moments, replaced instead by mewling tear streaked indigo. The Apprentice smiled, once again his dominance reigned supreme, and the beast lay broken at his mercy. A point he felt worth emphasizing with one last flourish, launching the Dead Apostle back through the air by her middle, only to fall right where she began, now defeated in a crumpled coughing heap by her servant's feet.

"Oh? Did you see that? Did you feel that? **BOOM**!" he brought his "Hammer" crashing down on the soiled ground, splitting the asphalt with an irrefutable air of finality. "In your F-A-C-E (as the young and hip might say in the parlances of a new generation). That cooled your head yet? Huh?"

There was nothing for the crying Dark Mistress to say, busy as she was nursing her massed debilitating wounds, fatal for a mere human, but she would not be so lucky to be given such a release. Her inhuman constitution would see to it that she lived, and the pain seared into her arrogant ego, like a burning brand, would forever remind her of this shameful humiliation! Oh, she would do it, a vow made on these crimson stained tears! She was going to take her time, and enjoy the many possibilities of ending HIM.

NEGI. SPRINGFIELD.

"Can Y~O~U see me~ NA~O, tweedle-dee'n'tweedle-DUMB~, with the eyes in the back of your friggin' SKULL? HUH~! Ha ha ha... HA HA HA HA, this is payback for making me lose sleep, you MOR~on!"

On stage, it was difficult to say who was the monster and who was the hunter, their roles somehow distorted in the stark glare of lightning. The sole observer available, unfortunately, lacked the insight to make the distinction, to her private remiss, but she knew what needed to be done next, and the Maid of the Dark Evangel would not be found wanting this night. If brute force was not the answer, then maybe one could be found in pure skill and logic?

"Please, allow me to speak: splendidly well done, Springfield-sensei," the neon-haired android spoke up for the first time in what felt verily like an eternity. No expression touched her immaculate face, but neither was there any hint of malice in the round of applause she offered, as she politely gave her beaten and madder than hell mistress a wide berth. For her to show kindness now would be the same as rubbing salt into the Dark Evangel's open wounds. "I never thought it was possible that a vampire of the young miss's stature could be brought low by physical attacks."

Her presence woke The Doctor from his glorious high similarly to a bucket of water dumped over one's face in bed, effective though not necessarily pleasant. Veiled behind the eerie glint of his glasses, Negi's eyes narrowed. He cautiously fell in step with the new threat's circling pattern, his subconscious still trained on monitoring the temporarily disabled Dead Apostle, of course.

"Ah, Karakuri-kun, I am so, so, so~ sorry! I have been neglecting you this whole time, have I not? Apologies."

_Jingle_. Jangle.

"No harm done..._sensei_. Curiously enough, I wonder, was there any reason why chose this venue in particular?"

Tock. _Tock_.

"Why, is the view not appropriate for a heartfelt lesson in discipline?"

Chachamaru ceased circling, having apparently satisfied her cursory assessment of him. How unusual; she had hypothesized that Negi Springfield was aware of zoning limitations in relation to her mistress' curse.

"I see. No escape plans? How disappointing. I thought you were more thorough than that..._sensei_."

A wry grin tugged at the boy magister's lips, all the better to hide his intrigue from scans revealing that the neon-haired android's hull seemed to be "hot" with heat. What luck, who would have thought her truncated hair would affect her ability to cool down so much?

"And who is to say that my laxity is not all part of the plan..._toy_?"

"A valid retort," the android gave her assent, planting her heel clad feet at shoulder width apart, firmly. "But now that you have sternly humbled Eva-sama's personage, personally, let it be known that I, Karakuri Chachamaru, am obliged to return the favor with interest. _En garde_."

It seemed the time had come at last for the hard part in his trivial operation. Aside from her own strength, the Dark Evangel always had an easily overlooked trump card in her hand, one that Doctor N. Springfield worried far more about than the self-important vampire herself. He could play Evangeline like a fiddle any day of the week, a huge psychological edge in the present conflict, but he had no such advantage against the fast approaching three-hundred pounds (read: 136 kilograms, approximately) of civilized "Murder Doll" bearing down on him.

Chachamaru Karakuri was a perfectly logical formula. She did not tire. She did not "feel" pain. And worst of all, she could just selectively mute or censor her audio channels every time Negi spoke, effectively rendering his much lauded mind games a moot point. This was going to hurt him a lot more to subdue her, than it was going to inconvenience her to achieve the same result.

Thankfully, while they had been sizing each other up, there had been enough time to cast discreetly a reinforcement charm on his bones and muscles, before pocketing away his wand. Otherwise, the headmaid's opening, a flying Superman punch would have shattered his defending palm. The slap of the impact, leather on metal, sent unpleasant shockwaves of momentum reverberating through his wrist and beyond, to Negi's chagrin, as he felt his center of mass shifting backward. It was an awkward time to learn his theory proved to be correct; the difference in mass was almost too much to bear.

Grunting, the magister magi backpedalled into the howling wind, a chambered fist still cocked at his side, while holding his guard. The rubber soles of his boots squeaked against the asphalt, as Chachamaru pursued him, evidently unsurprised that she failed to cripple him on the first blow. There was no stance or style in her movements that might have given her pressured opponent a hint to her next attack, and how to best counter it. The android, instead, trusted in her comparatively superhuman strength and grace, backed by the processing power of her logic machines to carry her through the battle, for now.

It would not do to show more of her hand, just yet.

Swaying and juking like a dancing cobra, Negi wove through a rapid string of strikes. A slashing knifehand to the face with her lead hand, and he bent back and to the left, just in time to graze by the follow-up cross. Then, the magister magi bounced on his toes for a hasty backstep to avoid the whistling underhanded hook.

To those watching, Chachamaru clearly held the initiative, but The Doctor was far from idle. He was studying his opponent, as he backed away from a whirling backfist, throwing himself into a reverse handspring, to avoid the incoming low sweep kick. It was plain to him that the android was fast and far stronger than him, for by the time he was rebounding of his hands, she had already reduced his gains in distance, bounding after him to launch a flying knee in his face.

Negi barely completed his revolution, feet just touching the pavement, before he was forced to defend with both arms. The force of the massive blow carrying through partly, his own hands jumping back to smack him in the face, as Negi's feet skittered about to stop his wild backslide. Harried and annoyed, the boy briefly entertained the thought of using weapons, but there was barely any room for him to breathe, much less bringing his bullwhip or lasso to bear.

The neon-haired android's rushdown game was pressuring the hell out of him. Not waiting for him to recover, Chachamaru ignited her repulsor thrusters still in mid-air, clearly an incidence of cheating in The Doctor's opinion, and exploited his open guard with an assisted thrust punch to the chest. A very smart choice, as he still had enough bodily control with his arms flailing about for balance to effect an ever slight sway of his head, if needed.

Instead, Negi suffered the ignominy of being floored on his back, pain exploding on his chest, for the velocity of the headmaid's blow was not enough to trigger his passive sorcerous defenses. It was a rude wake up call that sent him sliding just a little further, with a vulgar squeal of leather on asphalt, no doubt tearing more of the already worn material.

"First point to me..._sensei_?" said Chachamaru, a relative distance away bouncing energetically on the balls of her feet, after an act of superhuman acrobatics to twist herself into a forward recovery flip. "How sad. I have not even started to kick you down in earnest, yet."

Ah, who knew the wisdom behind the phrase "Like father, like son" also applied to "Like Master, like servant"? It figured Chachamaru Karakuri was not entirely insulated from one of the Dead Apostle's favorite past times: taunting.

"Ha!" Negi spat viciously, between controlled breaths. "If you let me catch my breathing for a second, my dear overeager pupil... **Then **I shall endeavor to teach you a thing or two about - close-quarters combat."

The posturing he knew was a waste of time, as the android no doubt had two goals in mind on her agenda: A. buy time for her mistress to recover, or B. disable him herself. Suffice to say, both objectives ran contrary to Doctor N. Springfield's bold ambition, but his pride demanded his wound be redressed. Automaton or not, at the very least, he could strike one blow against Karakuri to even the score, while he pondered a more permanent solution to the problem, that is putting her down for the count.

A safe distance would allow him to bring the best of his non-lethal solutions to bear, otherwise he would have to resort to more almost-lethal attacks to disable the android. As a matter of greed, Negi would rather not damage his future property, which would lessen her value in his eyes, not to mention show what an impotent master he was. His draconian attitude toward Evangeline was justifiable, but Chachamaru required a more - delicate touch.

Then again, maybe he should bring his Bodhi blastia to full power and get this fracas over with already?

"Will that be some time today...Springfield-sensei?"

The wind ceased blowing, every so briefly, and the magister magi bolted upright like a charge of lightning from the sky. He fixed his impudent student an expression: empty.

"You asked for it."

One second, Doctor N. Springfield merely stood, still as a statue. The next, the thunderclap of an explosion was heard, bits and pieces of ripped up asphalt flew into the air, as ionizing motes of ambient mana became visible around his person. A swirling cloud of electric blue clung to him that appeared to be radiating (or were they being vacuumed?) in particular from his gunmetal "Western-style" belt buckle, ornamented with jagged inscriptions of a sort, centered around a singular sapphire. The diamond-shaped jewel glowed with an unusual smoldering light that lent an ominous air of certainty, before winking out as suddenly as the phenomenon had transpired.

The Doctor smiled, and warning icons popped off one another in the neon-haired android's HUD, as if to say, she had a bad feeling about what was to occur next.

"Eyes on the prize now, Karakuri-kun. You might miss me, SO LOOK UP!"

The distance of ten paces should have been significant enough to allow Chachamaru's superior reaction times to account for any nasty surprises. Her specifications, alas, never considered the kind of foe, who from zero to sixty, tossing his cowboy hat up into the air in the same motion, could fulgurate forwards. He moved not so speedily as to disappear, but quick enough to burn "blurry" artifacts in her "vision", a trail of ghosting afterimages that left her keen logic profoundly, bewildered.

"What?"

The stupefying right cross to her face, hinted in a whistling dispersion of air just moments before the impact, was a most unpleasant wake up. Her internal gyroscope actually shook, allowing the headmaid a rare opportunity to experience what her flesh and blood counterparts would attribute as "reeling". Stumbling backward, she loosed a wild swing at her uncertain target, catching nothing but air, only for an odious vice grip, strong as steel, to clamp down on her valiantly offered arm.

"Oops" did not begin to cover her soon to be humiliating experience: her arm turned into a cantilever, twisting Chachamaru about face wherefore a boot planted itself roughly into her backside, and kicked out.

The result needed no spectacular explanation, as The Doctor caught his returning cowboy hat and the headmaid of the Dark Evangel got a full-flavored taste of asphalt, with her arse flying in the wind, all in the span of seconds.

"Striped panties **and **they are neon-green colored? Ha! How convenient of you to be color-coordinated from head to toe, which is more than I can say for your bungling git of a mistress yonder."

Was this "hot" phenomenon what they called humiliation, or were her logic engines merely suffering from the poor heat exchange rate that was building internal temperatures to intolerable levels?

"Now, now, where did all your spunk go, hnn? I am just beginning to warm up, Ka~ra~kuri-kun~! Come on, pip, pip, cheerio! There is plenty more where that first taste of indignation came from!"

On the bright side, he did not seem to notice a critical design flaw that had just come to her attention. Thus added to her list of priorities, she must insist on high-speed cameras be augmented to her visual receptor suite some time in the future, when she should return to the engineering lab.

"How marvelous and cruel, but that's just," Chachamaru rose up, all mechanical precision, and fixed him an emotionless glance that seemed bizarrely accusing, "to be expected of you, isn't that right...Springfield-sensei? You were holding back."

"What else were you anticipating? I am an English gentleman and your teacher, girl. I would not do something as sordid as treat you the same way I do to my enemies, would I?"

"Eva-sama may beg to speak her gainsay..._sensei_."

"Pish-posh, MacDowell is a big girl. She can handle a little tough love; by my estimation, it is the only kind of communication that cuts through all of her hidebound Schadenfreude hauteur anyways."

"Forgive me, but I am inclined to disagree on principle."

"Then likewise, on principle, I must insist you come around to see things **my **way. _En Garde_."

The tit for tat returned, the two opponents flew at each other again, but where as before, The Doctor demonstrated a cautious streak, likely for fear of his fragile mortality, now he gaily threw himself into the melee. Intent on gaining the initiative, Chachamaru opened with a flying scissors kick, cutting down in a vertical plane. Wisely, Negi took stock, putting on the breaks in another squeal of his soles, and stepped back, just to gauge his opposite number's intent.

He was rewarded with clear and present danger that the headmaid of the Dark Evangel had forgone her earlier free-from brawling now, for a formal "L" stance. His extensive martial training instantly recognized her stance to be a ready stance from the Terran-based martial art "Taekwondo", although it was possible she was imitating a similar stance from the native Japanese "Karate". Negi imagined she knew a lot more than those two schools of thought, but if all the android knew how to do was employ those styles separately, well, she was about to experience an unpleasant lesson in mixed martial arts.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer, with a mixed guard (read: lead hand outboard and his rear hand cocked near his face at eye level), the boy magister darted in first, feinting a cross by an exaggerate shake of his shoulder. He did not expect the deception to work, actually, as he moved more by instinct to keep his foe on her toes. Imagine Negi's surprise when she fell for it, fair and square, flinching back in defense for a high cross that never came.

It was an opportunity he did not fail to exploit, committing himself with another step to grab her by the shoulders and pull her in for a straight knee thrust to the gut, the bludgeoning force amplified further by his lamellar composite kneepads. Normally, the action of targeting the solar plexus region of an enemy made from steel and "fire", instead of flesh and blood, would have been an exercise in futility. However, Chachamaru Karakuri being a construct made to imitate humans, and combat being a secondary purpose versus providing companionship and vis-à-vis, she did possess a diaphragm.

At present, the artificial caricature of an organ was committed to aiding her cooling processes, and its sudden disruption in such a critical operation produced a most human-like response. Chachamaru coughed, plumes of steam hissing out almost comically from her nostrils and mouth, as she reeled backwards, her neon-hued eyes going wide as saucers. Alas, the savvy Doctor N. Springfield though, was already on auto-pilot, and he exploited her now weakened guard without mercy, grabbing an enfeebled wrist into his vice grip, before he wrenched her right into the eager blade of his whipping elbow.

"Pow!" a technique from Muay Thai, the elbow slash cut right into her exposed throat, which caused the poor android now to gag, whilst he released her and stepped back for a follow-up. In the brief span of what seemed like an eternity, her logic engines tried to compensate by cutting off the kinematic reflex protocols, but the increase in temperature levels, as she had long anticipated, was having a detrimental effect on her processing capability. It seemed Chachamaru would also have to request a better cooling solution, so the android noted clinically in a small untouched corner of her personality layer, when she returned to Professor Hakase's obsessive-compulsive attentions.

Swooning in a hopeless stupor, in spite her best efforts, the next attack came as per expectation: a reverse roundhouse kick that struck with a shattering thunderous slap. It was like a belated "Long Kiss Goodnight", except The Doctor, a dark bobbing silhouette in her "noisy" vision, was not blowing kisses for anyone. In fact...

"Oh goodness gracious, are you all right? I did not mean to shatter your right pinna antennae. Tsk, what a shameful master I am. This is going to cost me quite a bit to fix, is it not?"

Flattened onto the ground, beaten and driven, coughing more steam from her lolling mouth, Chachamaru reasoned then, she could finally sympathize with her mistress for the first time. Negi Springfield, what an injurious man. Already he was insinuating that he would be her next owner. Honestly, was her loyalty so cheap as to be bought by the strength of arms, and the dominant genius of cunning?

Then again, perhaps, it was a question better left not entertained.

The headmaid of the Dark Evangel snorted, jets of steam ejecting from her nostrils like a horse's breath on a cold day, as she rose shakily back to her feet. The latter symptom: a result of the broken, sparking remains of her antennae, now lying discarded on the asphalt, which had formerly assisted in balancing her internal gyroscope, in the same way humans relied on the organs in their ears to provide equilibrioception.

"And do you ever wonder what I find appealing about you...Springfield-sensei?" Chachamaru asked the foeman.

She was buying time. Professor Springfield must have known, being such a savvy gentleman, but...

"Ho, and wot's it-wot's it finds your fancy?"

He did not seem to mind indulging in a little more drama.

"You really love to run your M-O-U-T-H-_usa_."

By her prognostication, it was a testable theory that such showmanship will lead to his downfall some day, and what better time than the present to put her hypothesis to the test?

"Ho. How amusing, so you do have-"

Like the crisp snap of fingers, the stilled air howled aloud again, bringing with it an unusual gelid chill.

"Oh cor blimey," Negi smiled boldly, ignoring the twisted screech of metal, as the whole bridge shuddered under the pressure of a certain malign influence. "I am SO~ Right Said Fred, aren't I? Ha ha ha ha! I knew I was forgetting some-one!"

Indeed, he should have been paying more attention to his auspex, which had been pinging for some time now about the drop in ambient mana that was going to someone obviously, but the magister magi thought he was still ahead of the curve. Boy, how wrong he was proven, judging by these impressive readings he saw: at least enough out for an attack worth, oh, thirty-three magic arches?

"Good luck..._sensei_," Chachamaru bid him farewell, as she promptly fled the killzone, assisted by her keening repulsor thrusters.

Behind her, a considerable distance away, but just right where he left the debased bloodsucker in the first place, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell stood in all her "much ado about nothing" glory that is The Doctor did not care much for her standing at all. He knew she would get back on her feet soon enough. What Negi wished he knew that she would bring gifts: namely, one of those crackling ice blue comets from earlier, compressed into a rhombus-shaped shard the size of an American football. Oh, and according to his auspex returns, it was also extremely volatile.

"[_**FREEZING CONDEMNATION**_]!" suffice to say, the barked Latin invocation spoke of diminishing returns for his chances of survival.

Such a shame that Doctor N. Springfield found himself once more without time, and had he the luxury, he could have afforded a spell that could have match the Dark Evangel's fury head on. Of course, there were options, but a good mage always knew how to do more with less. Hopefully, his dear nameless wand (read: agh, still haven't named it yet!) could bear his pride a little longer, as dodging seemed out of the question, considering the freezing blast wave that fanned to either side of the Dead Apostle's spell at a sixty-degree angle.

Sure, it ought to beat being struck by the main effort. ...Wait, how about above it? No. Out of the question, Chachamaru Karakuri would intercept him for sure, and at a significant advantage with her ability to maneuver more skillfully through the air.

Shite. Here goes nothing!

"[_**Incendio**_]!" by his will, a concentrated jet of scintillating auburn flame erupted from the tip of Negi's wand to meet nigh overwhelming comet of frozen condemnation.

At a glance, it appeared a futile gesture, because the two powers on a collision course were so obviously disparate. And when they did meet, the titanic crash spiraled out in a visible mighty shockwave of many hues that crossed beyond the sphere of mere matter. Verily, the battle had transcended the physical into an electric contest of wills that nearly bent the magister magi to his knees on first contact alone, the breath stripped from his lungs, as if he had been forsaken to the mercy of a cutting black blizzard.

The Doctor's wand hand shook and rattled fearfully, white lines of illumination, like circuits, smoldered visibly through clothing from the tips of his fingers all the way to his heart and lungs. Suffice to say, his expression, too, was anything but peaceful, caught in the eye of the storm, terrible winds buffeting against his billowing coat and hair, threatening to tear off his proud ten-gallon hat at a moment's notice. And yet, staring into the center of the great conflagration, near blinding to the eye, as if watching the birth of a new star, it was akin to a spiritual experience for the boy magister.

Certainly, he would have preferred to pick a better time for such profoundness, but he stood his ground, bravely, despite the foregone conclusion. Inch by inch, the Dead Apostle was pushing him back literally, a furrowed black line of rubber in the pavement marking his pitched passage.

An exciting turn of events for some, but Negi already knew from the start that his foe, the much debased MacDowell possessed an immense well of magical power, typical of her kind. Trying to match her point for point was an exercise in futility, however there were good reasons why she had not overwhelmed him out right in an instant. For starters, he had an effectively employed the use of elemental polarity, then put to work his precise control, producing a concentrated jet of flame at the highest possible limits of the simple cantrip-style spell. Finally, he aimed to strike directly at the heart of the Dark Mistress' own spell, causing the present and deadly wager of a spell clash.

In the grand scheme of things, she would win, but Negi would reduce the effectiveness of her attack enough to survive, relatively, no worse for wear. Initial estimates pegged that he would have had to expend a far greater sum of effort mounting a dedicated defense rather than attempting a risky spell clash. That said, the bright light was getting awful close, and the noise cancelling feature on his earpieces were being positively overwhelmed by the electric wail of doom that it heralded.

Too bad, the only other way out of a spell clash would almost ensure his destruction: resigning. In such a scenario, all the energy the duelist had already put into the fight possessed the distinctive possibility of rebounding in a catastrophic reverse-flow phenomenon that would add to the destructive potential of the opponent's spell. There was nothing to be done except to push through right to the end, even as his wand began to disintegrate right before his eyes in an unpleasant wrenching snap of quantizing matter.

And in the midst of the awakening chaos, he heard a haughty challenge cry out.

"KIYAHAHAHHAHA! This is the end, Specter of The Thousand Master!"

Evangeline A.K. MacDowell. The Doctor had almost forgotten about the little blonde-haired parasite of a frozen corpse. Time to remind her that he, too, was not out of the game just yet.

"HEH heh~! In your deluded wet dreams, O' Visitation of Woe! This nightmare carnival is just starting to get KR-AZY, and I am not some ghost of Christmas's past here to make nice with you. Ha ha ha ha! The curtains are drawing near on your finale for this act, wretch, and when that hour comes, I will be there, waiting to CRUSH the delusional illusion of _Maga Nosferatu_. Look forward to it, EBAAA~swan! HA HA HA HA!"

Bold words; now, if only his calculations proved to be right on the money.

"Kiiiiii! BE-GONE."

Well then, time, for one last push: double down, all or nothing.

"UOOOOOOOHhhhhhhhhh! DO YOUR WORST."

Once more, the world exploded into white for Doctor N. Springfield. Weightless, there was no sound, no motion, no time, just a white numbness, blazing so bright he could even perceive it through his eyes wide shut. This still frame in space-time desensitized the senses of any grounding in reality; it was as if he had been transported to the fantastical world of science-fiction, experiencing an existence dumbed down to the most basic levels of classical mechanics, like the beginning of the universe.

The _Big _**Bang**.

And though The Doctor had no air to breathe, he still screamed, with a whole lot of pri~mal ANG-er, beating the ever almighty piss out of the invisible hand that sought to unmake him.

"Wh... ar-... Th... H-ll... D..dd-... -ou. T..i..k I...rghh. -m!"

Of course, it was really just metaphor for poor Negi flailing about haplessly like a doll cut from its strings, as he was sent hurtling by the humongous blast wave that rocked the entire Mahora Bay Bridge to its foundation. The Master probably could have managed to land in style, but for his apprentice, aspirant in the savvy arts, it did not happen. In fact, he lost his hat, and his landing was something between a face runner and face plant that left his dignified derriere propped up in the wind, like some fleshy pedestal for the opportunistic jackarse to plant his or her boot on, as their claim to five minutes of fame.

Thankfully, there was no one in sight, and Murphy, the good boy professor's long time rival and friend, ponied up a small mercy, that is a soft landing for the concussed and mostly heroic dastard. Landing complete, the next logical step was, of course, for Doctor N. Springfield to reboot his senses one by one, and at the top of his priority list?

His favorite blood letting lip service; Chachamaru had a point there, he really did like to run his savvy, glib-tongued mouth, and if he had no mouth, he would still some way to emote all of his profound angst. Everything else, concerning his bodily functions, after that would follow its natural course.

"Ah, bloody hell," Negi suspired between pained breaths, as he groped blindly in the white void that substituted for his high-definition vision. "_Ugh_. This is so, _guh_, w-rong. Wait, _sniff_, I smell - taste blood. At the same time. What? G, _glugh_! Crap, shouldn't have used my hands. Rrrghhh... Am I snortin' blood? _Sniff_... In that case, does that not imply then, my nose is bleedin'...my blood? Aw, I'll be damned, I. AM. snorting out blood that's mine! GAH, an' everyt'in' was just goin' fine an' posh, a few seconds ago! **Agh**. _Rot _this. Now, where's me hat?"

Suffice to say, the act of groping around in the dark for a miniscule accessory was any more productive as groping around in static whiteness. Still, he managed to get some usual feedback, which his freshly rebooted earpieces managed to pick in coordination in his slowly revitalizing limbs. By Negi's best approximate, it felt soft yet supple, malleable in his fingers, with a constituency similar to, erm, jello(?).

_Squish_.

"Oh, wait a minute, drugh... I know what this is, and, it's definitely NOT my ten-gallon hat, Mister Watson. Ha ha ha... THIS is a jailbait bird's C-cup boobs!"

Oh, and he had both hands on them, so evidently, The Doctor had totally failed in achieving anything productive.

"_Iyan_~...! What-" on the bright side, it was a small relief his leather clad hands were firmly grasping something (or someone) female.

If he was lucky, it might even be that harlot of a runaway corpse, although earlier estimates put the Dark Mistress' bosom at a generous D-cup. How disappointing she was actually a C-cup; those tattas looked a lot bigger at a distance, but then he could blame the illusion on her sleazy S&M evening wear. ...Now, imagine the good doctor's surprise when the proverbial lights came back on and he came face to face with an all too familiar mismatched pair of heterochromic blue and green-hued eyes, instead?

"HOLY ENGLISH LITERATURE! Kagurazaka Asuna? What are YOU~ doing here? ...Wait, don't answer that; I don't think my intellect can savage you a curt enough response right now."

"Huh? N, Negi... _Sen_-_sei_?" the bloody palm prints on her, ahem, upper torso region were going to be unreasonable difficult to explain, a fact that 3-A's notorious Baka Red quickly brought herself abreast. "U~WHAHAWAH! B, Bl, BLOOD! BLOOD! Giyaaahh, get off of me! Assault! Sexual Harrass-something! Kyaaa!"

Well, at least, she was wearing a red and white school-issue tracksuit. It would not hurt his coffers any worse in light of the prodigious expense report for tonight's festivities, all sadly out of pocket.

"Girl, ye speak of nothings!" Negi sat back subconsciously, thus effectively pinning his bewildered student by her thighs, as he continued to straddle her, much to Asuna's increasing distress. So, The Doctor did what he did best, change the subject, and reverse the tempo in his favor, despite the ugly brouhaha. "A C-cup? Ha! Y'er a thousand years too soon to be thinkin' with your lack thereof a brain that you belong within my strike zone. Hell, C-cup is too generous for you, more like B-B-B-B-cup! Now, shut y'er blathering, you halfwit Long and Flexy poodle; I don't give a shilling what you were doing before you got here, so let me save your flouncing hide before it gets smeared all over this bridge."

"E, e, EEEEHHHHHHH!" the auburn-haired girl reddened at his matter-of-fact effrontery. "Who's a whatever smartass thing you just said? That... Long and flexy, whatev-HEY, nobody said anything about touching me! Blood...oh god! R, r, rape! Aiiiiieeee! S, Somebody! ...Um, this is rape, right?"

"God, must you sound like a squealing sow in heat?"

"Eeeeeeeeeeekkkk! B, Bl~, blood!"

"That is proper civilized language for a FRIGGIN' FEMALE PIG, you mentally challenged, hard of hearing gorilla!"

"AH! You called me a gorilla, just now, didn't you, you nosebleeding jerk?"

Ignoring her confused, teary-eyed protests, Doctor N. Springfield finished the hasty magic seal he had drawn on his blubbering student's cheek, using his own blood. At the same time, he completed the body of the invocation canted in his harried thoughts, so she might be protected from what was to come.

"Why, thank you, [_**Execute Heroic Contract for one-hundred twenty seconds**_], and THERE!" the boy magister sent a jolt of mana into the spell.

His blood seal reacted predictably to the input, although his auspex noted a lower than expected output from the energized seal, blooming with an ephemeral blue light before fading away. How strange, then again, he was pushing the limits for an unauthorized heroic contract, so the less than stellar, though acceptable result was understandable. Besides, his top priority now was to pass some instruction to the quieted Asuna, shocked no doubt by the mystical phenomenon she just experienced, so she knew what to do with his obligated blessing for "success".

Helping (read: pulling) her up to her feet, he spoke briskly in what was plain language that even a bone-headed plebian, like 3-A's Baka Red could understand, or so the boy professor hoped, "Look at me. Make eye contact. Now, EARS! Open! And listen, because I'm only going to say this once. You're on your own from here, you dig? Fight-or-flight, it's your - OH SHITE!"

It was not a frenetic moment too soon that The Doctor's honed battlefield instincts, that is his palms suddenly sprouting an unholy electric itch, thus throwing himself aside into an evasive roll. His ears had relayed the keening hum of thrusters, which his conscious mind could only attribute to the Dark Evangel's headmaid flying on a swift, aggressive vector. Not bothering for that bit of comprehension to come through, because The Master had stopped giving him hints for the majority of life threatening issues in dangerous territory, so he could build his own "Sixth Sense" for trouble.

Normally, he would be dodging all sorts of unpleasant surprises, such as a dastardly back stab from behind, and the opportunistic kiss of a passionate plasma bolt, just for starters. Tonight was the first time Doctor N. Springfield ever missed a "date" with a surprise "rocket punch" to the head. Instead...well, it was one of the rare times he felt genuine sympathy beyond his duty for Kagurazaka, as she crumpled to the deck, a doll cut from its strings.

Thankfully, Chachamaru seemed to have enough presence of mind to continue hyperextending her along the length of its wire (read: so it was a wire-guided rocket punch...) and grab her victim by the face. Thus, the airborne android ensured a relatively more controlled landing for her classmate, before retracting her arm and dropping down between himself and a potential human shield, if he were a total monster. The Doctor being such an inglorious basterd knew better that a human meat shield would not hold up very long anyways under fire, and a skilled marksman could overcome the temporary hindrance with a little luck, or a cunning diversion.

Besides, it was much more productive to vent the full barrage of his stupefied wonder, "What the Ding Dong Bell? Did you just thow a wired-rocket punch me, but smashed your classmate's watermelon instead? Sweet, mother of... Agh! Goodness, Karakuri-kun, was that TRULY necessary?"

"Please, allow me to speak: it goes without saying," Chachamaru eyed him coolly, the howling wind adding a clinical air to her dispassionate demeanor, "you were the priority target, and were in the process of bettering your position by acquiring Kagurazaka-san as a piece. If you had not dodged..._sensei_, then I have reasonable confidence to believe you would have been in Kagurazaka Asuna-san's condition instead. In fact, if you wish it so, I can still arrange for you two to switch places."

A round of sing-a-song laughter reverberating through the creaking suspension bridge, in a most murderous tone, illustrated the headmaid's point on the conclusion of that particular recourse.

"Ooohhh, Spring~FIELD~! Iii~YA~HAHahhahahahah!"

Flashing a playful bloodstained full-teeth smile that made him look a little more than psychotic, a fact of which he was not aware of, Negi figured he might be safer taking his chances to meet that end, preferably, on his own terms.

"Ha ha ha ha... I think I must insist on taking a rain check on your most _kind _offer."

"Unfortunate. Let it be known I, Karakuri Chachamaru, would have been much more merciful than Eva-"

"HEY," then interrupted - A CERTAIN VOICE.

Abruptly, even the dashing Doctor N. Springfield felt his smile wane, when his palms renewed themselves of a positively burning, maddening itch that sent his teeth on edge. Chachamaru, not blessed with the forbearance of baser instincts, had not the faintest clue that the reason her batty mistress's vulgar laughing sounded about as pleasant as a purring kitten, now confronted her. The heavy, suffocating atmosphere suited Asuna Kagurazaka, bleeding from an angry wound hidden somewhere beneath her auburn fringe, perfectly, and more worringly, something - was not quite right with her.

He could tell by her eyes, little pinprick pupils that looked she had just killed a man, and **enjoyed **it. ...which should not be possible, since he would have made certain to notice a little detail like that, unless she was a quintessential professional, apt at hiding such...quirks of character?

Oh sure, Negi had seen her pissed off many times, but right now... Well, it was dangerously, terrifyingly different. If he had to put it on the scale of one to a hundred, this was the sort of pissed off that read "IT'S OVER NINE THOU~SAND~!" on the Be-Afraid-Be-Very-Afraid! meter, for a rank nine, inner badass had just been awoken from her insulated daydream, quite rudely, by an honest mistake.

"Just now," SHE breathed, with a savage tone. "You aimed for my head, on purpose, didn't you?"

Now, it seemed to occur to Chachamaru that something was out of place about her classmate, "...Kagura...zaka-san?"

"Y'know you can kill someone by hitting a vital spot on their head, ri~ght, Chacha-_baka_?"

Ah heh hah ha ha...ha, for the record, thought the more proprietary side of Doctor N. Springfield, for the sake of an argument he was not inclined to spell out in words, the head is one gigantic vital spot, Kagurazaka Asuna-kun. Ha ha ha ha. You might want to exercise some common sense and flee while you still have the chance, Chacha-? Oh, dear, she's talking BACK.

"It was not my intention to kill, maim possibly, but the top priority was of neutralizing the perceived threat."

By the Queen! You never, ever, EVER! talk back to someone who just made ME wanna shite definitely-not-chocolate dingle-berry bricks, you malfunctioning half-wit!

"So what you're saying is... You knew this, then... And, so~," Asuna took a step forward, with a most disturbing Brad Pit eating grin, "you were trying to kill me, right~? So~, you shouldn't have any complaints no matter what I do to you NEXT, right~!"

"Ah-UUF!"

One second there was Chachamaru, standing; in the next second, there was a three-hundred pound projectile worth of an android called "Karakuri Chachamaru", ejected into the air _sans _most of her clothing, which were somehow spontaneously removing themselves from her person. She flew in a bedazzling, heroically assisted neon-green arc, just like a Yankee football, before smashing downrange, well over half a soccer's fields length into a hundred-meter long strike zone of cooling, molten crater of glass.

Goodness gracious, it seemed his earlier spell clash with the Dark Evangel had left quite the mark, and as for Chachamaru, well, she did not get up again. In fact, the damaged neon-haired android, lying spread eagle'd on her back, was preoccupied with spontaneously venting steam nonstop from all manner orifices while broadcasting aloud:

"Error. Error. Error: self-preservation protocols in effect. Initiating emergency cooling phase. This unit will be entering stand-by mode until further notice. For technical assistance please dial the engineering department. Thank you. Please, have a nice day."

At least Asuna had spared her a measure of dignity by letting her knickers stay on, but it was an understatement to say that 3-A's Baka Red had stolen his thunder right at the last moment. Even as he ran up and caught her now thoroughly unconscious form, which wore a comically dazed expression, Negi found himself nurturing a rare boon of respect for his unfailingly hard-headed student. Then again, perhaps, it was her small revenge against him for sizing up her assets, so maybe he should reconsidering being more generous some time down the road and give her that C-cup rating after all.

Who knows? thought the boy magister with a shady shrug. Kagurazaka Asuna-san has at least another four to five years of adolescence to go, so she might even become a D-cup by the time I am long gone.

In the meantime, he supposed he ought to offer a small word of praise, even if she could not hear them.

"You might make a good berserker some day. For now, I think I have it up to my eyeballs in frights and delights for one night."

The Wheel of Fortune, however, begged to differ in the ongoing case Doctor N. Springfield. It would not do for the host to leave before his part was over, and what better way to reinforce the point robbing him of his element: darkness. The wailing wind stilled, as if signaling the audience to hush, and the blackened heavens parted, allowing gibbous Selene to preside over the events once more.

His palms itched, and there and then, The Doctor knew, as the starkly bright moonlight played over him, like a stage's spotlight that the culling hour he foretold had arrived. No more subterfuge, no more running, no more...excuses; it was time to make a stand. A dire calling to which Evangeline A. K. MacDowell could not be more happy to oblige, her vulgar cackling laugh, accentuated by the theatrical flutter of great bat-like wings, said plenty enough of her passionate enthusiasm to settle everything, once and for all.

"Awww~, does the little fraidy-cat want to scuttle home on all fours back to Mama _**and **_Papa?"

Negi wrinkled his nose in distaste, as he felt her shadow fall over him from her high and mighty perch, up in the clearing sky. It was a beautiful night, marred only by the presence of a putrid preserved corpse, and stubbornly, he noted, the Dead Apostle still clung to her vain glamour. She had even expended some effort to repair its tattered illusion.

Ku ku ku ku~! How he was going to enjoy tearing it all apart and leave the proud Dark Mistress in stark nakedness, for all to behold her true ugliness. The Doctor could hardly wait to experience the fruition of all his efforts up until now, but first he must speak and play his deciding role at this most finest hour.

"You suggested it yourself, did you not? Those who claim to be fearless are either brave, stupid, or incredibly desperate, at that is the common case for most mortals. Myself? I am none of the above. Instead, I am of a breed of foul mortals who enjoy toying with so-called superior and-or absolute beings, and seeing to their ultimate destruction. In fact, it is one of my imperatives in life to kill - a GOD - with my own two hands. I have seen it done, and I. just. cannot. WAIT. to try it for myself. Gives real meaning to a man's life, you see?"

Of course, Doctor N. Springfield's retort did not end there. He had much more to say, and somehow managing to affect a dignified air of patient condescension, despite being burdened with an unconscious, and bleeding from the head Asuna Kagurazaka. He really should treat that wound soon, even if it was just a flesh wound.

"Now, to clarifying on another misconception you hold to dear, so ferociously: do not misunderstand, _Miss _MacDowell. I am a big boy now, and it would be embarrassing, rightly so, if I needed help snuffing out the annoyance of a minor bloodsucking flea-bitten sack of _Aris _and puss. By George, my entire kith and kin are in the monster hunting business, and business has never been better! Besides, my pick for a mother would be Mnemosyne, Goddess of Memory, and my old man **is **Thanatos, _Death _incarnate. Heh. To paraphrase ol' Hesiod, He is an absolutely sav~_vy _basterd, who possesses 'a heart of fire, and his spirit within him is relentless as zeal: whomsoever of Man he has once seized, he holds faster still: and he is hateful, and pernicious even to the deathless gods, who thought falsely that with strange aeons, even _Death _may die.' **He lives**."

Actually, since he was on the subject, Negi figured he might as well get off whatever else was on his chest that had been bothering him, since he began this disciplinary action against Mahora Academy's very own Dark Mistress on a short leash. She had some truly gross misunderstandings about him, and it was annoying as balls that she could not see the boy magister for who he was, and not the delusion in her perverted head.

"In fact, he is SO busy kicking arse nowadays, across all four corners in the forgotten center of **The World** that Father had had it with babysitting me! Ten years of dutiful service was enough mollycoddling. Oh, no! Fa~ther, my liege and master, said I needed to get out of his shadow, strike out on my own, and without me noticing, he deported me from the eternal war of aeons, and sent me down here to Terra, where I toil and walk amongst the common man. He said it be good for my resume. Builds good character! Ha ha ha ha. ...That bast-"

But as much as he wished to divest her of such a biased perversion of the facts, Evangeline was not about to let him have the last word. Oh no, she had a mountain of shite that she wanted to air out too, at his expense!

"_Uuuuuuu_! -SHUT UP, RIGHT NOW! From the Father to the Son, none can escape from the sin already flowing in their veins. ...**You**. LIAR. Lies. lies. lies. LIES! ALL LIES. Nothing but shitty lies, all of you, the entire damned, rotten Springfield line! That kindness. That justice. That gentle smile! Lies. Excuses. Falsehoods. Oathbreakers! EVERYTHING WAS A LIE!"

"I have no-"

"LIAR," and the tear-stained look she shot him ended any illusions he might have had at a civilized rebuttal, "can't you see? Why~ can't you see it? Its. RED. Thick as blood! The promise that could not be kept is burnt deep, right here, into my chest!"

Those stricken indigo eyes, bleeding with red hues, as the pupils dilated wildly from monstrous pinprick dots to wailing cat-like slits, were doing quite the number to his pitch black heart. Namely, The Doctor had to repress a murderous urge to launch a preemptive strike, while the abomination was at its weakest. Those loaded defamations had nothing to do with him, so if she denigrate him, the least MacDowell could do was be PRECISE!

So thank you, Murphy, for opening the floodgates of inanity. Now, she's hysterical, obviously delirious, and she's got the water works turned on, without even realizing. Thank you. Thank you so fracking MUCH! Don't you know I just get chuffed to bits when I see females crying? Makes me wanna kill someone so she'll start screaming at the bloody mess I just made and pass out instead. You hear me, MURPHY?

That said, Murphy Law, ever the ingenious bastard, got a massive boner out of The Doctor's fiery castigation that had less than a snowball's chance in hell of touching his posh pinto. But as much as the bespectacled boy wonder chaffed and raged in vexation, a different side of him smelled - opportunity, and the Machiavellian machinator could never pass up a chance at profit. He smiled, crookedly.

"Then, I guess, my destiny is to deliver us both, from the **ghosts**, of our pasts."

Evangeline was having none of it, but by this point in time, Negi had along since been convinced that the abominable lady doth protest too much.

"Nothing. Nothing. NOTHING. You will END, and I will bathe in your blood, freeing myself from this wretched curse!"

"_Pu ku ku ku ku_! Believe what you want, _Miss _MacDowell," he baited her with a saucy grin. "Enjoy it. After all, it is your privilege, your - _entitlement_, the only thing you can savor, imprisoned as you are in your distorted illusion."

"_Fool_. FOOL! What can you do but die? Do you think you have any chance of winning at all?"

"Who knows? You might even have the right idea there. Maybe, I should have grabbed that extra life I forgot at home. Mind if I happen to scurry back savvy-like and retrieve it?"

"Eeeeeeeyaaa-hahahhahaha, and for what?" the Dead Apostle let out a shrill cry, overcome with sidesplitting guffaws. But it was a bitter laugh, a broken record of the tears streaming down her cheeks from eyes transformed into crimson, mad with something utterly inexplicable. "So I can just KILL YOU AGAIN! Eh! Is that right? Ne~gi Spring-FIELD? KIYAHAHAHAHHA!"

No, do not lie to yourself, man, Negi frowned at his almost successful subterfuge. I do _**know **_that look. It is my least favorite expression to see on a female's face, too. ...ugh, I cannot believe it. What wanton foolishness! To think that after almost two decades of waiting, hoping for a miracle that most likely would never come... All that time... Those unrequited feelings were actually... Genuine?

Shite. What a mess! Of all the... This goes beyond just succeeding in domesticating a Dead Apostle. I. ...I can't bloody believe it. Why? How? And does it even matter anymore? Arrghhh! Daaaammmiiittt! Whoever said there is nothing that cannot be healed with time is a god forsaken crackpot, and an impotent euninch. Arrrghhh! What a pain!

...Hey. Thousand Master, you had better pray that our paths do not intersect...but who am I kidding? Of course, we will meet, right? That way I will make sure you regret never learning to clean up after your own contemptible messes, you skirt chasing son of an arse bandit!

The Doctor sighed inwardly in grim resignation, as his boiling thoughts came to a more - stable - simmer. There was only one thing left on his mind to be done, the best remedy for this sort of advanced illness, and a remedy he would not perform just for any patient either. However, in the egregiously horrible case of the Girl Queen of the Night, the boy felt justified in making an all too rare exception: time to operate.

"Look, I tire of this pissing contest, so how about you act the part of a good sport and let me put my baggage aside, huh?"

His reserved dulcet tones, no less venomous than usual, thankfully seemed to have a mollifying effect on the Dead Apostle. Of course, there was plenty of empirical evidence that she was nowhere near done venting her two decades worth of heartache just yet. That said, Asuna Kagurazaka was in the way, and on her honor, she would not allow some wretch to be involved in the making of the gigantic meat pie the vampire intended to make out of her hateful foe.

It did not mean she would refrain from making him work for her grace, however.

"And why would I let you do that?"

Negi snorted wryly, "You ordered a duel of honor, did you not? You know? Of the variety that states: No more tricks. No more hiding behind whoever's convenient. Just you and me. Mano-a-whatever-you-are, iihihihihihihi!"

"Bah!" Evangeline retorted with her spiteful derision. "If that earlier spell clash was any omen, your fate is already sealed, Spring-FIELD."

Poor, poor Miss MacDowell; she still had not learned that The Doctor, always, always found a way to get a word in edgewise.

"Oh, and I must not be remiss in failing to mention: no more holding back from yours, **truly**."

There was silence, and the wind began to blow once more on an eerie sibilant note.

"...What?" Evangeline narrowed her eyes, alert for the foul scent of deceit, as the corners of The Doctor's lips, curled, and pulled into his ever ineffable smile.

The one that said, "Somewhere, some when, there is a bastard I do not happen to like, and I know for certain he is making good time on all the screams he owes me." Ah, but Professor Negi Springfield was a devout English gentleman, was he not? Surely, he was not so petty as to hold onto a grudge, for the smallest slight?

Hah. Even so-called benevolent gods would have little grace to spare for fools who would willingly injure The Doctor's pride.

"Eh? Karakuri-kun noticed, so I figured you had made the same correlation too. You realize you are still my student, yes? Ha ha ha ha... I have not **begun **to take you on earnestly, yet, Evangeline Athanasia Katherine MacDowell, _Queen of the Night_."

Being the self-proclaimed Queen of the Night, the Dark Evangel, too, had her pride. It would not do for Evangeline's posterity to appear so petty, when the hour of her great triumph was at hand. Besides, who would fault her for partaking in a small, insignificant indulgence to smoke a puff from the pity jar, hmm?

"And the night will not be young forever, talk is cheap, so get on with it, BOY."

With a shout from his very cruel lips, the shadow he cast bubbled and belched an ugly cacophony, from which dozens of writhing hands struggled to claw their way out to the sweet release of "Outside". The congestion could have been easily alleviated had the beasts at the gate chosen to cooperate, a failing Springfield happily corrected by the persuasion of his boot heels. Pained shrieks and squeals now joined the symphony of misery, but his minions were apt learners, requiring only some minor guidance.

Now, in turns of two's and three's, the infernal squat, goblinoid forms emerged from his shadow, some tall, some short, some deplorably thin, and others sickeningly fat. All sported rows of sharp teeth, big brightly lit yellow eyes, and an unhealthy pallor like chalk that was only alleviated by the gaudy myriad of colorful, floppy twin-tailed hats they wore, similar to a Santa hat. Each specimen seemed to be unique to its owner, who was otherwise flat out naked, but thankfully lacked any grotesque modifiers that might hint at a gender.

And watching it all happen from her lofty perch, the event intrigued Evangeline as a matter of fact because in spite of his refined image, the evidence her rival would employ such dark, vulgar magic, in his affairs was - delightfully ironic.

There were a dozen of these creatures in total, and like a doting father, Springfield mustered his otherworldly minions in an orderly formation, passing the word of the day, before summarily dumping Asuna right on top of them. Four of the fat ones were crushed instantly in a hail of helpless guffaws, while the others hooted and pointed at their expense. Suffice to say, it was self-explanatory that they were help summoned at the lowest bid, but they learned quickly not to tarry too long...

"IIIEYYYYAAAGHHHHHH" one of the toady catcallers found "himself" (yes, him for the sake of convenience) propelled through the air by a bemused boot to the arse.

Springfield, evidently, enjoyed taking a proactive approach to employee bonding. Their fickle, tiny minds reminded of the true task at hand, his minions scurried to obey, a task not made any easier by their sole comrade, who seemed to be permanently bowlegged now.

"Interesting," Evangeline remarked, as the gaggling procession spirited Asuna off to relative safety behind the shadow of a distant suspender. "Some help you have there, _Spring_field."

The suspect taskmaster turned to address her, a glimmer of pride dancing across his smug face, "Expendables, _Miss _MacDowell. A real cowardly lot, but they know how to obey strength and do not question their orders. They make for poor minions but great menials, see?"

"Too ugly for my tastes."

"Nonsense, nonsense! These little chaps have a charm unique to themselves."

"Hee-ho!" one of the insinuated charmers made itself known from beside his summoner. Normally, its presence might have been frowned upon, while its fellows were still occupied, but this creature was well ahead of the rest of the pack, evidently. He had brought a most desirable "gift".

And verily was Springfield pleased to see his cowboy hat returned to him, having thought it lost no doubt, judging by his eagerness, "Speak of the devil! Ha ha ha ha; there-there, that's a good darkling! Keep this up, and one day you might even become a proper Black Frost."

The stout, little impish fiend trilled under his approval, before excusing itself with a smart salute to dive into the haven of his shadow, which rippled akin to a pool of water. The reason for its haste was made plain by the roaring angry mob of its fellows, following in hot pursuit. Clearly, he had been the smarter one of the bunch, doing little of the work, but taking the lion's share of the profit for himself.

In a way, it reminded her exactly of Springfield, a correlation the Dark Evangel found herself dolling out a lilting giggle.

"Ehhh? Who would have a thought? So the Dark Evangel can behave like a girl, when she feels up to the occasion."

Instantly, Evangeline felt her cheeks redden with a damning flush, to her shock.

"Wh, wha, what the hell do you mean by THAT, Springfield! Are you suggesting-"

Negi laughed, a full-hearted merriment, as he resettled his felt ten-gallon hat back into its rightful place.

"Iihihihihihi! Too easy, too easy, even though your vanity clearly says you have a lot more confidence in your body than others might care to believe."

"Nnnngggghhhh! ...Ha. HIYA~hahahahaha! Laugh while you can, Spring~FIELD, because the last one left standing will be me."

Try as she might to be menacing, the magister magi was already on cloud nine, evidence by the fresh spring in his step, as he began to jaunt back and forth in place, like the beginnings of a dance.

"Say, have you ever wondered why you have not heard or seen me cast an aria, in the entire time we have had the pleasure of knowing each other?"

Evangeline had to frown at his question, because truth be told, it was a line of thought worth pursuing. However, the Dark Mistress would be damned, if she showed her foe, just how badly she wanted to know the answer to that lingering mystery. Indeed, Evangeline felt compelled to counterattack with a volatile inquiry of her own!

"Does it matter terribly much? You are outgunned and outmatched, and still you persist in that same insufferable manner as your contemptible father. Bluffing. _Boldly_."

To the little vampire's disappointment, Negi brushed aside her verbal attack as if it were no more than a little rain, clinging to his worn duster, "_Au contraire_, if you heard my _geis_... I guarantee you won't be hanging around to find out what IS coming after it, _ii~hihihihihhi_. So, just to get rid of some pre-fight jitters, how about we do this? Blizzard of Darkness, a high aria requiring proficiency in water and dark spirits that you should be familiar with, against a comparable spell from my own forte: that is, _Light _and **Darkness**. Ha ha ha ha. I perpend, you **can**, manage that much in your present state, can you not? Or were my expectations of your debased self too high?"

Damnation. That liar. No matter what he said, his actions echoed the infuriating honey-sweet bravado of his sire. The Thousand Master, too, was the kind of egoist who laughed at his setbacks and overcame them, no matter how hopeless it might have appeared. Of course, whereas Nagi was gifted with monstrous force, much like herself, to make his own luck, his - specter was a contemptible creature of a different breed.

"Ho? Light and dark spirits? ...Pffffftttttttt-ahahahhahaha! Are you MAD, boy? Do you have even the faintest clue what happens when you mix polar elemental opposites together?"

Magister Magi Negi Springfield would profess that fortune smiled upon those who made their own luck. The method to his madness, however, would be lauded as extremely cowardly by the majority. There was no power, luck, or unspeakable heights of heroism to be found here. Only certainty, attained by meticulous planning and an attention to detail, a bloodless war fought before the first shot was even fired, millions of deaths, simulation after simulation, until he could possess the "correct" differing circumstances.

"In my experience, a spectacularly combustible mess is the norm. Tsk, now, shall you take white or I?"

If the Abrahamic God was said to exist in the details, then Doctor N. Springfield had already seen: the ending.

"Uiihihiiihihii~! _Kyaa_, _kyaa_~! I made him say it. Kihihihihihi! Good, good! As a favor, I'll let you have the lead for amusing me so much, right before you DIE. I can win this duel even without starting first!"

Negi grinned, enjoying the rhythmic flutter of his foe's cape, which reminded him oddly of a nervous heartbeat.

"Heh. I never much fancied being the White King, despite the advantages. Black always seemed more like my color, do you not agree?"

Such a shame that the Dark Evangel would no longer oblige him a response; thus, depriving of The Doctor of his fun, with her gelid expression, so very serious. It seemed she had tired at last of his games. Now, there was only an awful certainty left of what must come next: one shall rise, and one shall fall.

"Well, then this is it, and as some fantastical poets have said, once upon a time, some when, somewhere..."

In that case, Negi figured he might as well dedicate a small, savvy ode to the victor.

"HEY. If you wanna battle me, then take it to the street! No rules, _fool_: take off the kid's gloves, and watch my lyrical Dempsey roll bringin' the smack down to YOUR face. OH! Dread of the grave? Ha-HA~! I never TREA~D, _lightly_. 'cos we still need more fear, so. here. we. GO!"

With a snap of his fingers, the magister magi spun in a fluttering whirlwind of cloth and motion. Perhaps, he thought such a flashy feint my ruin her poise, and perhaps, he had no plan at all. The bombastic basterd did love his theatrics to a fault.

How foolish.

Right now, with ice flowing in her veins and seeded enmity, a howling daemon, burning in her caged heart, it was impossible for Evangeline to miss even the slightest deceit. The intensity of her focus had never been more clear, as if she had somehow grasped a taste of enlightenment. And there the Dark Evangel was, watching the condemned sinner reach into his duster for his death wish.

Or was it a trump card?

Shining in the night, a radiant silver light, it was the most beautiful revolver she had ever seen. The mere sight of its noble form, plated to a pure finish, took Eva's breath away. Itwas fully engraved from the barrel down to its ivory handle in a graceful scrolling pattern of mille-fleurs. A feast for the eyes, the many intricate flower petals were accompanied by the heraldry of tiny crucifixes, orbiting a warped, pentagram with a triangular "eye" that seemed to weep tears, adding another dimension of geometry at the heart of this strange star. And last but not least, embellished as the centerpiece of the ivory handle, mirrored appropriately on both sides, a majestic rearing unicorn made its glorious stand to the motto lining the barrel of the silver gun in flowing script...

"_À Mon Seul Désir_".

W, wha, what? W-WHY? ...Why, those words? She. She knew them, although the meaning varied greatly from observer to observer, and - and these feelings, now, welling up inside her bosom, swelling to bursting. ...J, just what is this? Flashes. Images. Smells. Voices. Warmth. ...M, memory. Kuh! Of all the times, now... N-NO!

"_**Mon timebo mala**_!"

_By my will alone_, _I will fear no evil_.

"Silver Cartridges - LOAD."

_Was I too late_?

"_**Lic lac la lac lil lac**_!"

_A survivor_!

"[_**Heed my call, harbingers of light and dark: open the rift, O pride of the gods, and become annihilation incarnate. Thy brilliant howl tolls the Day of Wrath**_]!"

_She has been turned_.

"[_**Come, water and dark spirits, it is time: darkness obey, I cry a scything blizzard, ice and snow of the merciless night**_]!"

_Lord, must I? Must I? Can this small, downtrodden life not be spared?_

"This ENDS here, Dark Evangel."

_Is hope a sin?_

"AH~hahaha! Then, _COME_. **AND TAKE THEM**, if you dare, B~O~Y~!"

_Child, if it is so that no one can escape from the sin flowing in their veins, then I wonder_... _ How heavy will my punishment be for harboring this secret to my grave?_

"[_**INDIGNATION**_]!"

_The final judgment is about to be given._

"[_**BLIZZARD OF DARKNESS**_]!"

_Are you without sin, Child?_

As suddenly the overflow of information, so did it end with a shattering roar. The Dark Evangel was back, thrust into the heart of the fantastically absurd tempest. Heat, hair, snow, cloth, wind, ice, light: here in her present was the infinite possibility posed by the precipice of defeat, challenged by the titanic might of the iridescent star before her, a maw of dazzling light in the many hues of the rainbow that threatened to swallow everything she ever was and can still be. Indeed, it seemed to consume anything it touched, peerless as the sun.

But even bewildered by fragmented memories and on the verge of being routed, Evangeline A. K. MacDowell would not back down. She had already tasted death, and been revived by the selfish wishes of a heinously damned creature. There was no after life waiting for her, except the depraved pleasures of _Inferno_, whose players would enjoy bartering her condemned soul as a piece, until her usefulness came to an end.

The Girl Queen of Darkness had sent plenty of her enemies there for an early retirement, and she would be damned, if she gave them the satisfaction of getting even with her. So Evangeline reached deep down into her hateful soul that shined the brightest in the darkest of hours, and did what she always did best: pull herself up by her own bootstraps.

"JUST WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK I AM?"

Satan take everything, she would never tire of saying that line; worked like a charm every time too. In an instant, the floodgates of her infamous mana reserves that had not seen the light of day in almost two decades, opened all at once in an incomprehensible tsunami of power. Her spell, her blizzard howled with a new life of its own, and unbelievably, the fabled pride of the gods faltered within inches of snuffing out her oh-so-miniscule existence.

But the great Evangeline A.K. MacDowell was not going to settle for just a stalemate; oh no, she was going to turn this smarmy star around, twist it sideways, and shove it right up Negi Springfield's arse!

"Ha, after all that barking, is THIS the best you can do, Specter of The Thousand Master? What a joke. What a LO~SER!"

Down below, trapped once more by the binding decorum of a spell clash, Magister Magi Negi Springfield wore no expression on his young, handsome face. He looked on, revolver held high, watching no doubt in a voiceless scream, as the instrument of destruction that he thought so much of began to turn against him and descend meter by terrifying meter to end him, instead. This duel was over. The King was in check and but moments away from being slain.

...Or was he now?

"Oh, really? Ha ha ha ha. ...**Hey**, MacDowell, you would not happen to be lying to yourself that this priceless relic of a by-gone era, in my exclusive possession - was JUST some pretty antique, did you?"

Suddenly, it occurred to the Dark Evangel, with a sickening wrench of her bowels that, perhaps, today was going to be a very, very COLD day in Hell. ...But that's just crazy talk, right?

"[_**REPLAY**_]."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!"

Impossible. How could this be? The Specter of The Thousand Master, too, could emit a mana burst (in a smoldering blue flame) that not only matched her own feat, but had added in total a five-fold boost on top of its magnitude. It...it has to be a trick. More lies! She, she must be imagining things! How can some fourteen year old brat have more power than her, a Dark Mistress who sojourned over half a millennia?

"_Priori Incantāre_. Fuu...! Has a nice ring to it, does it not? Heh heh he he he he. Rewind then playback... According to my research, it is a lost magic formula long thought dead to the world. I rediscovered it. Endlessly useful, but alas, no modern _foci _is capable of utilizing _Priori Incantāre_, and the circuitry in today's magic users, similarly, are not wired correctly to execute this formula, which is well and good. Why? Because it makes me the exclusive owner of the only focus, and by extension, the only sorcerer, in the entire sea of stars, who can do...**this**."

And from the smoldering blue flame, four more ghostly doppelgangers twirled out to his left and right, forming up ranks in inspiring parade ground precision, with a flourish of their silver revolvers in the exact same pose as the original. They could not be real, but her prey sight would beg to differ. At a glance, five more "Black Kings" had been added to the game board in total disregard of the rules...however, this was not the case, far from it. The ugly truth? The phantoms were not breaking the rules because they ARE Springfield's five allotted _**pieces**_, namely himself, replicated in the same suite to the agreed upon number, and those magic guns they held - were loaded.

"This is what they call Texas Hold'em action in the endless frontier I fancy, EBAA~-_swan_, and I am. The KING: **Ace-High FLUSH**!"

As one, they fired their silver revolvers, an awesome fusillade of shots like the thundering barrage of a full on broadside from a battleship. There was no escape. The blazing shells, like comets, screamed past Evangeline in wide arcs only to come apart in mid-flight, releasing the total annihilation within their bodies to converge on her from all angles possible. To think, the great Dark Evangel would be so horribly outmaneuvered, right at the end.

Ha. How _fitting_. It was the same, too, was it not, way back when The Thousand Master sealed her away so many years ago? Ah, it must be her fate, unable to escape from this moebius ring for all eternity. She had her chance, and she blew it. Again.

"NNNNGGGGYYYAAAAH-hahahahaha! ...ne-gi. ...SPRING-FIELD!"

The haughty Girl Queen of Darkness tried to smile boldly, right to the bitter end, but it was so stiff...that it seemed even more hopelessly pathetic. Bathed in that oddly cathartic white light, all her vanity began to disappear, the very best make up and glamour to distort and hide the truth - all gone, leaving only the sinner she truly was: a locked up girl, frozen in desolate time, and so very alone. How much more must she suffer? Was this not enough already?

"I'm just a poor girl. I need no sympathy, because I'm easy-come, easy-go, little high, little low. Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me, because anyone can see that nothing really matters to me."

Ah~, I want to die! thought the locked up girl in despair. I am tired. So, very, very tired of everything, everyone, and me! Can't someone spare me from this monstrosity, called "Boredom".

Please, just end it. KILL ME. You can do dirty deeds dirt cheap, right? Concrete shoes, cyanide, T.N.T., neckties, contracts, and high voltage to name a few.

I am serious.

I don't care anymore.

Because everything, and everyone, was a [**Lie**].

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

My god. 19,000-ish words. Well, I guess, it should be expected after two weeks of work. And yeah, if y'all haven't figured by now, we got a cliffhanger end too. It's not totally over, just yet. We got a little bit more to go before this case is officially over.

I would launch into my usual commentary here, but I am so drained right now, I really can't think much of anything. Seriously, hats to everyone who had the stamina to make it all the way down here in one sitting. This was a mad epic long CONCERT. And I swear to God, I am so not doing this again, if I can help it.

This is taxing both on you guys and me. So, uh, thanks. Like. A LOT. Really, really a lot. I can't thank you all enough. So, please, please, tell me what you think in your reviews or what-have-yous as I marshal on to write this episode's "Tea Party".

It's going to be...special, I think.

Heh.

Peace, lifetakers and heartbreakers.


	20. Chapter 20

A smoking gun, and he was the one, who put a bullet hole in the sky, _yeah_. The thunderstorm was passing, and peeling back the black curtains with it, to reveal the stage and all of her actors and actresses. What a shame there was only one lone cowboy standing, and he no one else to share his lofty limelight with, for he was the last man, as attested by the disinterested moon.

High above, Unsung Selene saw all, yet gave no applause. Was it poor manners, or was the play so atrocious, as to only deserve silence? Doctor N. Springfield could careless, because he knew his play was not over. There was still the epilogue to be played out, and wait he did, for the voluminous cloud of smoke and flash to settle. Forks of electricity still discharged intermittently around the circumference of the polarized cloud mass, as the roar of the once great conflagration receded, a blind white as if a new star had been born, into the distance.

Five spheres worth of "The Gods' Pride" concentrated on a single target might seem like overkill, considering the destructive power of an anti-matter-to-matter annihilation reaction. Of course, any Terran physicist would be having a spontaneous "nerdgasm" that a method existed at all to manufacture anti-matter in viable quantities on the spot, but the same physicist would be immediately crestfallen to learn that amount produced is quite miniscule. Not to mention, it was still an extremely energy intensive process to produce a yield that would only be sufficient for say an infantry-scale assault weapon intended to engage enemy armor and hardened fortifications.

A good mage, when sufficiently prepared in The Doctor's experience, was equivalent to a squishy armored fighting vehicle, whereas a vampire in the same class would be a kinda-squishy main battle tank. Even if an enterprising individual were to knock one out, the undead turd can still transform into a veritable hardened bunker. Hence, the need for multiple hits, and the fact the anti-matter warheads would still do massive damage, causing much pain and inconvenience, despite not being a true conceptual weapon. Lesser vampires would be killed outright by the destruction of their corporeal bodies, but the older, tougher ones would merely curse, a lot, before sulking off with their astral bodies (read: souls), plotting their resurrection and inevitable revenge for another day.

Having said all that it might appear to the casual observer that the Girl Queen of Darkness was truly done for, at least in body anyways.

"C... C, coward."

Except in the grand traditions of savvy inglorious basterds (read: EPIC!Trolls), Doctor N. Springfield had held back just enough at the last moment. The hoarse, pitiful cough that emanated from somewhere within the dissipating chaos was music to his ears, and the flakes of red-hot ash and sparks precipitating outward, might as well have been a shower of confetti, congratulating him on a smashing job well done. It was another innate beauty of magic. Compared to the inane barbarism of swords and guns, it was night and day, an elegant weapon for a more - civilized man.

"I bet that qualifies as more than just a flesh wound, eh?" he chuckled blithely, taking one last precautionary check by the discreet shake of his head to ascertain the health of his nose.

It would not do for a nosebleed to ruin his big moment, when he had taken pains to exercise a minor healing charm upon the insult, adding to the effects of the recovery enchantments on his Bodhi blastia, during the brief intermission. The sad truth for the fact of the matter, when the subject turned to public speaking and heroic boasting (read: TheHellHero?Trolling), appearances were everything. Failing to make a good impression will cause the aspirant to critically fail even key events where failure should not be a possibility, and lose much prestige within one's own circle.

For goodness' sake, as the situation stood, he had the blonde-haired trollop right where he wanted her, and all that remained was the proper application of - dominance. Negi smiled playfully, waiting for the fruition of his work to come into view. He was not disappointed.

"You, _little_, **rat**," the Dead Apostle suspired roughly between harsh, heaving breaths. "Do you know... Who the hell I am?"

The source of the red-hot shower was none other...

"I am _Maga Nosferatu_, the Undying Mage."

...than her very own absurd body; with over sixty percent of its mass entirely liquidated, the normally diminutive vampire girl was even then, but a pathetic shadow of her former self. Her warped disheveled form reminded The Doctor of a scarecrow set to the torch for kindling, such that her nakedness only made the sight all the more deplorable. Indeed, the faint of heart would censure him for what amounted to cruelty in their eyes. However, for those understood true terror, they knew this sort of ending was just last Tuesday at an after party brawl, proceeding the vampire's wholesale slaughter of an entire sleepy hamlet.

The undead were wretched creatures and expected to be treated quite horribly by their own kind. How else could a "superior being" ram home a fair point to another "superior being", whose body would not expire from mere mortal wounds? Verily, the definition of torture and humiliation needed to be upped several horrifying magnitudes, and Evangeline's present ramshackle state of affairs was in the general opinion: a light sentence. Though in the spirit of academic inquiry, The Doctor was most fascinated the Dead Apostle could effect speech **and** respiration, while utterly lacking any lungs to speak of.

"Something of this half-assed level... It's not enough. NO. It's nowhere near enough to satisfy me! _Fu fu fu fu fu_... II~YA~hahahahahaha! This. This doesn't hurt at all, _uiihihihihihi_!"

Her ravaged burnt body hunched over by the neck, like a corpse hanging limp at the hangman's noose, allowed the Dark Evangel's frayed golden fringe to distort her expression, terse lips pulling back in a white haughty sneer.

"Come on, BOY. Where's the fire? Entertain me some more! Don't tell me you're spent after just one go at the Dark Evangel? _Fuu_~_hihihihihi_. How PA~thetic! You'll never be able to hold on to a woman of your own, if this is your best _shot_~! Ahahahahha! End it. End it. END IT. Nehehehhehe! Because its never over, until it **really **_is _over, isn't that right~?"

Moreover, through that lightning barrage of Schadenfreude hauteur, Doctor N. Springfield did not even blink _once_. Oh no, his playful smile grew bolder, before he offered a bemused sigh, as if engrossed in lecturing a student on a particular topic of interest that suited his fancy.

"Another misunderstanding is it? Tsk, must I, must I repeat myself? Good grief. How tire~some! Perhaps, I ought to consider seriously the import of sending a health and services brochure to all my patients in the future, so they know what to expect from me."

"Expect. Ex-PECT~? What is there to misunderstand? KILL ME, you coward. KILL ME! It's what you do best, isn't it? Kill _**mon~**_**sters**? Hehehehhe. ...unless, THAT was another lie too, Ne-gi. _Spring_FIELD?"

"Ha ha ha ha, vampire, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done so on the first night we met. I have a most Draconian '_No Returns_' policy, that is to say, I do not allow for... '_The one that got away_'. The wisdom behind such policy should be self-evident to one such as you, who has preyed upon Man in the past, no doubt. All sentient beings possess a capacity to learn, which is quite common amongst the more intelligent monsters, so when I **hunt**, I _**kill**_, always. Naturally, the same policy also applies to animals: leave nothing to chance. Get it right the first time, for satisfaction _guaranteed_."

"Then, end it now!" snarled the Dead Apostle, something crimson and malicious smoldering brightly beneath her frayed fringe. "End it, before you regret your cowardice for all eternity!"

Even then, The Doctor was unruffled by her feral cry, his duster billowing in an audible flutter of cloth from a sudden upsurge of wind. Another nail for her coffin he had already prepared, ready upon his lips.

"I am afraid the only coward here, is you, Evangeline Athanasia Katherine MacDowell."

The Dark Mistress shuddered, shocked into speechlessness. After having fought to the best of her ability with what she had, the foeman would accuse HER of cowardice? Outrageous!

"Nnnnngggghhhh, S-P-R-I-N-G-F-I-E-L-D~!"

"Ah~, the worm doth protest so~ much, but if this here were to be a trial," and what a gentleman he was, indeed, in offering the wretched ashes of this beast a chance, "then 'tis only fair you be allowed to defend yourself. **So**, tell me, are your eyes open yet? Can you see the flies in your eyes, or do I have to crush you be_neath_ my heel some more to free you from your delusions?"

"Shutupshutupshutup-SHUT UP! What do you know? You're just-"

"Let me guess, '_Without love, it cannot be seen_', is what you intend to suggest, or some discourse to that effect?"

"Y, you...! What're you im-" Evangeline spluttered, taken aback by the mention of the oft loathed word, which she had forbid from ever being spoken in her presence.

Love: the root of all evil and folly, she... She had nothing to do with such a thing, and neither desired it either! To only irritate her more, all those foolish cows, the gossipers, every single one of these brainless, vapid girls the Dark Evangel had the displeasure of knowing throughout her long incarceration at Mahora Academy, all they could ever talk about was just that: L-O-V-E. They might try to disguise the issue under the guise of what was fashionable in the day, but in the end, all their obliqueness lead to that abominable quagmire.

What rotten misfortune that the conceited charlatan, calling himself Negi Springfield, would drawl in his glib condescending tongue of what she despised even more than The Thousand Master!

"Fool: I have gots y'er numbers right here in me little 'ickle finger. Run, hide, but 'ere's nowhere left ta go, don't ye see? Ye gave 'em all too me, you manky nasty berk. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Ha! Bill ol' chap, ye were only half right. They also be the most pathetic creatures ye'll ever have the pleasure of knowing."

She, the feared Queen of the Night, was pathetic? How dare he associate weakness with her epithet!

"Or in plain English: I profess, you fail still to pull your head out of that fermenting sack of crap you call nostalgia. _Feh_! Wake up, _Miss _MacDowell; wake up, and smell the roses... And see the _**thorns **_for what they **are**, not what _you _want them to be!"

Oh, the great Evangeline would bear it with a smile. Let the little pup bark all he wanted; she refused to acknowledge his slander with a retort out of principle, not out of fear he would turn her own noble words against her!

"Ehhhhh? Wot's this, wot's this? Silence can be taken as an implicit admission to the truth, EBAA~_swan_," Negi sang aloud flamboyantly with an inflammatory leer, not bothered in the slightest by his patient's lack of participation. In fact, it only emboldened him to take more ground, as he damn well pleased. Refusing to fight him, arguably, was the worst mistake an opponent could make, for the boy magister enjoyed with great relish, shattering such feigned masks of supercilious indifference.

Such childish ploys wreaked of _fear_ and **doubt**, when it was plain to see he was cornering his prey with every step forward.

"See here... At first, I thought we had a misunderstanding, namely yourself with an issue of my authority, which devolved into some messy feud for past wrongs done to you by some Jack Rabbit arse, who has nothing to do with me, and I none with his ilk, but now~... We come to **this**? Good Heavens, why do you want to hang onto your delusions so~ badly that you are asking for **my **help to assist you in suicide, _hnnn_?"

The Dead Apostle shuddered at his merciless sarcasm, her fangs bared in a openly seething sneer. Good heavens, verily it seemed more damning by the minute that she was but a helpless prisoner to her own tumultuous passions! How juvenile.

"Come now, my laughable queen, if you are as majestic as you claim to be, then OPEN your eyes, **EVA**: Love. HURTS. And the truth? Sucks. I have got a good hunch on how your nostalgic blast from the past drama unfolds, so let me tell it to you straight, savvy? ...The Thousand Master did not save you out of the goodness of his heart. Oh HEAVENS, NO. _Fu fu fu fu_, I will tell you what _**really **_happened: pity is the Viagra of The Idiotically Strong, dearest _fool_."

The abused bridge moaned with a creak of metal, as the gelid wind seemed to whimper and shy away at his harsh condemnation. He had begun the process in earnest now of hammering away at the nails that would seal the Dark Evangel's coffin. The alabaster walls of her disproportionately swollen ego would not withstand his onslaught for long.

"That's correct, Eva. He popped his P-E-C-K-E-R saving you, probably COULDN'T get it up, unless he was always going out of his crazy way to be _heroic_, and _**saving **_someone or some_fink_, when he can give less than a DAMN about them. 'cos, you know, they need to do something good, so they can feel GOOD-er about them-selves, HA!"

Fight, Evangeline Athanasia Katherine MacDowell! Surely, the blazing flame of passion within that cold immortal body, was not just for show, because if she did not fight her fate, then tonight will be most assuredly her final grave. After all, The Doctor would not relent until the malignant cancer buried deep in the tortuous recesses of her soul had been excised in full. The perilous procedure could ill afford any kind of half-hearted resolve. He knew the risks, and cowardice at such a critical juncture would be the same as signing his patient's death warrant himself; better she be murdered by his own hand in an attempt to save her, than to sit back and watch "Kitty" waste away into nothingness by his negligence.

"N...n, no, No, NOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooo! Lies. Lies. Lies~, all lies! It wasn't like that... It wasn't like that at all! _Uuuu_, l-l, l...liar, liar, YOU LIAR! Don't dirty my memories! My precious. Precious. MEMORIES!"

Hence, Doctor N. Springfield intended to take that immense squall of relief he felt straight to his grave, if he could help it, when he saw those twin molten lines, like tears of the sun, snake down Evangeline's seared cheeks. And if any pernicious solicitor worked up the nerve to investigate him on the matter, he would only suffer them a smug reply: everything went according to plan. As the boy magister had inferred correctly, the Dark Evangel was not dead yet...

"Unsightly woman. How much longer will you parade your worthless wretchedness for everyone to see? When are you going to get over yourself and stop acting like an emotionally compromised high school _prima donna_, with looser skirts to boot that just got dumped on her rump, hmm? Are you so S-P-E-C-I-A-L that you are entitled to preferred treatment? Get real. Nice guys are not the cuddly, brainless scrubs you think they are. Oh, and if he is so~ bloody nice, and so flipping perfect, do you **seriously **think he CAN'T take five-minutes out of his day in the all the time he has left you ROTTING here to write a letter, or give you a call?

She just needed some motivation learning to live.

"Face it, _Miss _MacDowell. You were just another notch on his ego, another _pro bono_ charity case to help balance his karmic checkbook for the big day when the pearly gates open, and the streets paved in gold will welcome him, like a favorite son returned from glory. End of story."

And what better way to start than to begin anew from **zero**? he thought jovially, as the lights of the city began to flicker back on, one after another, to the thrumming beat of progress. The A.R. glasses' heuristic tactical software blared warning klaxons into his earpieces in an attempt to apprise him of a new disturbing event, beyond the scope of the information he had gathered beforehand, citing a sudden massive build up of arcane energies in the air.

Not that Negi needed the warning, the magnitude of this mysterious power alone was enough to make his eyes water and his bones tremble with an electric buzz. It was not a good sign, the unexpected never boded well, but right now, he could care less; the anguished primal cries of the Dead Apostle reminded The Doctor of a woman in labor. Her emotion riveted him to the core in both fright and wonder, even as he beheld the monstrous deposits of magic from all four cardinal directions condense and crack into great swathes of blistering white lightning. Easily able to blot out the sky, and so brilliant to the senses they were that they put even his reproduction of "The Pride of the Gods" to shame; their target was the Girl Queen of Darkness, no less.

"N, n-n, NOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooo! DISAPPEAR, EVERY-THING! DISAPPEAR! LIES. PAIN. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G! DISAPPEAR, WORLD, AND I WILL VANISH WITH IT!"

If there was ever a time for a miracle, now would be most appropriate.

"**Don't **disappoint me, Dark Evangel, when I am just dying to see what truth lies inside Schrödinger's cat box: let us examine the coffin once more to confirm...is she dead or _alive_?"

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 20:

And A.K. MacDowell was her?

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

White as far as the eye can see, because nothing existed here but the White. No light, no darkness, no air; nothing, not even time was permitted to exist here, except for her. In the absence of everything else, one lone anachronism survived here, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell. She laid here naked, curled into a ball, much like a newborn infant, but she did not cry or breathe, nor did she sleep. Indeed, not even a dreamless sleep would be permitted, and a few hours here in the terrible stillness of the White, deprived of all senses would drive most people mad.

The only exception: the Dark Evangel, she wished for this world, and all that remained was for herself to be bleached white into its color. Only then could she vanish forever by both God's blessing...and the white of The Devil's cruelty. No one else would be allowed to take everything of hers and trample all over it. Aye, if there was a heaven for her, who never belonged anywhere, than this end was her last bastion.

...Right? This was truly her heart's desire, right? _Neeeeeeeeeee_~? Hyahahahahahahaha!

"Wrooooooonnnnnnggggg~, and the biggest liar of them all is Y~O~U~!" a sultry voice crowed in a honeyed sneer. "C'mon~, stop kidding yourself already! You can't be honestly satisfied with a never-do-well ending like this, can you? Hihihihihi!"

The heady musk of roses defiled the void of the White, preceding a golden splash of color that swirled around the stilled ashen girl, and from therein, a storm of butterflies emerged, giving shape and form, below, to a slender pair of hands ending in crimson painted nails. While from above a gaudy porcelain stage mask appeared; feminine, her expression was forever framed in the rictus of a grin, as tears streamed from those smiling eyes. Yet, despite being caught in such a fantastic event, the figure of Evangeline did not stir in the slightest, her eyes dim and gray. She was so still in fact that she was just like a life-sized doll.

A lesser jester might have been heartbroken by so cold a welcome, but not She, for this fool understood that a fool's prerogative was to speak of truths that others would shun. So did She begin to comb her fingers through the girl vampire's blonde locks, with an uncommon familiarity, as nostalgic memories of "the good old days", long since field away, came to mind.

"True. He's probably right, you know. As far as we can remember, you never really understood what was going on that knave's head. Unless he was as stupid as the insufferable smile he wore, The Thousand Master must have known on whose behalf he had intervened that day. There's no way a fall of that level could even dream to inconvenience the Dark Evangel for long...but he did anyway. And then he fed us, shared the warmth of his fire with us. For what? Food and shelter are but novelties to stave off the bite of boredom to superior beings. Why?"

The harlequin's mask swiveled into a sulky frown.

"He was really quite the interesting toy, and he rejected us. US! The nerve of him! ...Well, we sure did one hell of a job teaching him a good lesson, didn't we?"

A flicker of an eyelash seemed to dance, as the unwanted interloper loosed a self-depreciating laugh.

"Ah, what fun it was to annoy and tease that _little _man...! ...But all good things had to come to an end, huh? You got bored, tired, and turned yourself in, didn't you? Spoilsport. Anyone could've told you that going to a time and place set by that man would be beyond a terrible mistake, but if it weren't for that, Me, we wouldn't have become so close, would we now? _Hihiihihi_."

Snickering in a toady fashion, the harlequin drew closer, and her entourage of lilting butterflies with her, as if to bathe the stilled girl in the warmth of gold.

"Listen, there's no way to be certain of the truth, unless we go out and open the box for ourselves. As long as the box is never opened that little man, The Thousand Master, whom we desired so madly, can be alive and dead at the same time. A hero and a villain. He promised us that he would return to lift the curse. Try living in the light, huh? It can be fun, huh? _Hihihihi_. A promise he did renege on, but a promise is a promise, and he hasn't swallowed his one-thousand worth of needles yet, has he~? _HIhihihihi_!"

Again, the Evangeline-like doll's eyelashes flickered, as if some hint of light existed somewhere in those dull indigo eyes.

"Who am I? _Kihihihihi_. Hey, don't be such a stranger, the Me that forgot ME! ...Although, it has been a while, hasn't it, huh? _Hihihihihi_. _Girl_, I have been your best friend, your only constant companion through these past eighteen years, crawling the vile muck of Hell, right by your side!"

The harlequin giggled, and her supple alabaster hands revolved about to the fore, gently cupping the doll's elegant jaw line, as her thumbs played fondly on the other's cheek.

"Honestly, _girl_, how can you call yourself a queen, when you've got not one fool beside you to call your own? Ooooohhh, heavens! You were always, always fretfully alone, dearest me, with no one except... **I**, your shadow, and your double. _Hihihihi_."

From those poised finger tips, an unexpected legerdemain did occur then, color pooled and diffused into the ashen girl, and like a malicious fever, it breathed life miraculously into all its gold touched. The shell of her stillness shuddered and cracked, puffs of smoke poured through the widening fissures with a sizzling crackle, as if a roaring inferno had been kindled within the inflamed veins of that dried out husk. To the cynical observer, it appeared that the remains of the Dark Evangel was finally being put to rest for good.

"N...nghh...gh..." the Evangeline-like doll coughed, expelling bright hot embers, like flecks of blood.

But the harlequin was a dreamer, and even on the precipice of death, she still believed that her voice could reach those muddied gray eyes, which held no light in them.

"Oh, you would accuse ME of lies? _Hihihihihi_. **_Girl_**, why would **I **lie, when the truth beats all the lies we could ever invent?"

The fickle note of shattering porcelain heralded the next step toward heaven's destruction. Bleeding fissures opened ominously in spider webbing swathes across the White, venting a malign inky blackness that unmasked the deep-rooted cancer of her soul for what it was, truly: another lie. Ambivalence was not salvation, but the mirthless bell tolling of the owner's death knell.

"My, my, your tongue is filthy as ever, _hihihihihi_, but it isn't as if I dislike that part about you, do I? _Hihihihi_! Now, come, acknowledge your solitude, and I will bequeath to you the most worthy prince of them all, the marvelous beast of possibility!"

And there the harlequin pointed across the way, an earth shaking rapport heralded her promised prince's arrival in this darkest of hours: a ray of hope, his shining presence rent space and time asunder, as easily as any providence divine.

"There, do you see it?"

But it was no man, who had come to pay his dues. Indeed, his mysterious neigh, the velvety staccato beat of his hooves, and the radiant horn on his forehead did mark him a beast fair, born of the light: a unicorn. The dead world of the White bent and moaned, as if repulsed by the fey creature's presence, caught between the consuming putrid darkness to one side and the scintillating blades of the sun on the other, tracing a dazzling myriad of rainbow-hued arcs.

"Isn't it every girl's dream to ensnare such a noble creature for herself?" giggled the harlequin at the fantastical wonder. "But, Eva~ dearest, you must be careful. See: he is a fickle creature, and insufferably sharp. An adversary, I dare say that might be too much for yourself as you are now to _tame_."

Nevertheless, it was a bewitching sight to any fool so wretched as the Dark Evangel that even her remains could not help but respond in desperation. Groaning in effort, she tried to grasp that impossibly farfetched hope, like a blind newborn, pawing for some source of solace. But her arm did not move an inch, instead only more flame and ash bled through the cracks and pock marks of that spent form, for a husk did not possess the necessary bones and muscles, and could never in a thousand years effect such a desire.

"But, there is hope: see... **He **has taken an interest in you."

But if that is not dead and can lie eternally, and with strange aeons even death may die, then a miracle, too, could occur, yes? That death lived still, and the red-hot ashes of a pitiful beast might grasp hope, a reason to live once more. The unicorn snorted and trotted forward, his luminescent form shifting and blurring, hooves into hands and feet, back shortening and erecting, and so did the marvelous fey beast become the silhouette of a man, bathed in light.

"Your chance has come, dearest Me. Won't you take his hand since it is offered? If you want to find out the truth, you'll never get any answers waiting here, a princess locked up in this stagnant **tomb**, to be forgotten to the sands of time."

And just as the harlequin spoke did the unicorn stop before the doll, and offered his open hand, but made no move to close the distance so near, yet so very far away as well.

"So, why not take his hand, Eva? A singing bird that has lots its wings will only revert back into the terrible, ugly beast it was once before, and to grasp those wings again will be no easy task. It will be hard. There will be many nights where you can't stop crying at your own wretchedness, but you mustn't, mustn't ever, lose hope."

The Evangeline-like doll shuddered, as the White gave another dreadful convulsion, bits and pieces of her straw hair flaking off into white-hot embers and ash.

"Already you have survived _Inferno_, and through this trial you will be born again at the shores of _Purgatorio_, where I wait amidst its steppes to judge, and perhaps, absolve you of your sin. Should you choose to refrain, well, from there the boundary separating the living from the dead is a small trifle. When the time is right, it would hardly trifle you to act on your great ambition and seek out your heart's greatest desire."

The bone-white world of gentle lies did not have much longer, crumbling from the very roots of its rotten, putrid foundation.

"But hurry, dearest Eva. I, your loyal friend, once heard these words, spoken by the Head Inquisitor of Heresy no less! Listen: '_There is no truth that cannot be reach if you spend enough time SEARCHING. ...However, all trials have a limited time in which the truth must be DECIDED. Therefore, a truth that cannot be reached within that limited time cannot become TRUTH_.' This world is already crumbling under the overwhelming force of Springfield's merciless truth. If you stay here, the only thing that waits is the still death of DESPAIR."

Indeed, there was naught a better descriptor for the complete, devouring darkness to the Dark Evangel's back, poised to slam shut its many-fanged jaw at a moment's notice. Nothing could best it short of what lay at the bottom of Pandora's box: the oft-missed ray of hope. He was here, but the one who must make the first move can be none other than Evangeline A.K. MacDowell herself.

"Stand up, Eva! LIVE. Take His hand and run to the outside, to the light! Surely, there exists a golden truth somewhere, stronger than any truth, other than here. Don't ever stop looking! THINK. As long as you are thinking, there's still hope, _ne_? Hyahahahahahahyahahahaaahhh!"

The harlequin's mad cackle receded, whisked away in the storm of golden butterflies, with the blowing wind, as the Devil's roulette - **turned**. Will life and death become equivalent? Is the act of will in itself no more than a delusion of the senses; choice, an arbitrary roll of causality made at the behest of convenience?

_Hmph_.

Then, there was no better time than now to decide Her destiny. She stood up, a golden butterfly emerging from its molten cocoon, and grasped it that they called the unattainable: a miracle.

* * *

Evangeline A.K. MacDowell's senses flew open. Gale force winds rifled through her at many a frightening breath per second. The sky was all wrong, a reflective obsidian sheen that shone with motes of lights and the hunched over figures of buildings. If it were not for all the adrenaline feeding through her veins, she might have froze over with a sudden electric shiver from her disgraceful state of nakedness!

Never mind the fact she was plummeting to near certain death at terminal velocity from several hundred feet wherefore the surface of Mahora Bay's dark waters would be about as pleasant as nose diving into a block of concrete. That said, why on Earth would a normally sensible eccentric like the girl vampire assume it would be possible to survive such a fall? Well, for starters, her present body, according to her best findings anyhow, was only a _faux _human one. A most excellent imitation, whose resilience she had tested on a small number of occasions by throwing herself down a flight of stairs in a drunken stupor.

Hence, given the benefit of the doubt, Evangeline estimated it would only take her about a year to recuperate from having all her newly reconstituted flesh and bone turned into a red, white, and black paste of mush. And if she was lucky enough to perish, the Dark Evangel swore to take great pains to haunt and OWN whatever corner of Hell the awfully conceited prig of puck named, "Negi Springfield", would fall into himself. ...But, really now, just where was he? Were English gentlemen not said to be the masters of time management?

Hell, how could any self-respecting teacher be late for his own student? Inexcusable! She would be sure to bring up the entire incident to that old, wrinkly raccoon-dog, Konoe, the next she was able to speak, and begin the process to making sure that upstart could never call himself a teacher, ever, again.

"EBAAAAAaaaaa-_swan_~!" a familiar tenor cried out, his tone insufferably wry and confident, as the gunslinger from the old west appeared right at her side.

Ha, and try as she might, the girl vampire could not help but snicker cheekily at his dramatic punctuality. Oh, bless you, you Devil; you! How unexpectedly thoughtful you can be at times! I am, just, honestly A-mazed~! You knew, I didn't want to spend a year in the hospital while all my nasty bits and pieces knit themselves back together, didn't you, you sly puck? Now, I can give you a piece of my mind. Right. This. Instant! You insolent prick.

"Springfield~!" Evangeline greeted her nemesis with a feral grin. If Negi Springfield had the balls to make no change to his disproportionately high opinion of himself, as they both fell to their probable deaths, then she saw no reason to back down either.

"Having second thoughts about suicide yet, ye mentally challenged dunce?"

"**Ha**, you're telling me, jack-ASS. I never said you can join me for an noble's suicide."

"EX~cuse me? Girl, you ought to open your eyes first, before you open your mouth. I have ROPE. You DO NOT!"

Sure enough, the smarmy boy magister thumbed at the length of rope belted around his waist, which was fast spooling out a lengthy lifeline in his largely unconcerned descent. It was only by pondering the mysterious absurdity of how his cowboy hat did not come loose in the howling wind that Evangeline managed to keep a straight face and haughtily laugh off her defeat.

"Hahahaha, I wonder if it will even hold? _Kikikiki_, don't let your fancy for dramatic timing affect your work now~, _Spring_field! And better yet, don't make promises you can't keep!"

Springfield smiled, as if bemused by her lack thereof common sense for the gravity of the dire situation, namely she was naked and falling to her probable doom in a most imminent and watery grave. But as much as he wanted to play, being a teacher, he had to observe some measure of decency.

"Then, let us put me to the test, shall we? Here, grab a hold and hang on tight, ye greedy flea-bitten bloodsucker! " he extended a gloved hand toward her. "And do not dawdle. ...Seriously, do I look like I have all night, _just_, to wait on you? No. Of course not! Because there is still school, bright and early, in the morrow, _Miss _MacDowell."

So did Evangeline reciprocate appropriately enough, with an arrogant snort, as if the boy magister should be grateful of the honor she was bequeathing him in allowing herself to be - _saved_. "_Kihihihihi_, don't regret it now, _sen_~_sei_! I don't give re~funds on skinship! Kyaha-_**urk**_!"

Doctor N. Springfield being Doctor N. Springfield, however, he had a way with getting the last laugh. Soon after their hands became clasped and he brought her securely into his embrace, quite a different scene from the last time the Dark Evangel recalled being rescued to some refreshing irony, the boy magister conveniently reached the end of his tether. All the blood in her body, suddenly pooling in her brain, Evangeline swore she almost bit her tongue off, teetering dangerously on the edge of fainting, before her world decided toss itself the other way from upside down to right side up, violently.

In a matter of hair-raising heartbeats, Springfield's tether switched into an impossibly efficient bungee cord, and threw them hundreds of feet right back up to into the air. Had it not been for his surprising iron strength, the vampire girl imagined she would have torn off his duster by the jarring forces of classical mechanics at work, despite the valiant protests of her nails. Only time would tell whether the smug bastard would bother to taunt her as to why his spine and neck had not been horribly broken in many different places from the incredulous whiplash.

What a shame, they had bigger concerns to be worried about now that they were airborne, and Springfield's egregiously long bungee cord had pulled them along on a heading straight for the Mahora Bay Bridge, before unraveling itself from its anchor point. Common sense suggested plainly that they were coming in for a hard long; a very, very hard landing, considering the magister magi never once demonstrated the capability for flight. Thus, Evangeline felt she was quite justified in screaming and hollering like any powerless human girl in the arms of a mad man, who was not Quixotic in the slightest and very much mad as a hatter, as he piloted the both of them to their deaths!

"Huwaaaaahhhhh! S-S, Springfield, you jerk, I don't wanna become a sloppy hamburger steak on bloody ketchup with youuuuuu~!"

Springfield was as ineffable as ever, which was a good sign. Right?

"Ha, _now_, you're telling ME, little miss priss! **Get in line**; there are millions of faces I have rocked, who are just dying for a chance with me! You will wait in good order like everyone else does, _Miss _MacDowell."

"B, But, sen~sei, I am too~ young to die, and there's a mountain of things I still want to do...LIKE proving to you just how wrong you are!"

"Oh, shut up," he told her curtly. "You can yell off my ear later! Right now, this is the important part where I need to concentrate."

"Eeeeeeeekkkkkk!" squealed Evangeline, as she felt the teeth in her jaws squirm with an unpleasant, electric sensation. Even in her deplorable state once more, the vampire girl understood the phenomenon to be a product of magic, but the flow was..."all kinds of wrong". It ran contrary to everything she knew about sorcery. Really, just what on Earth is this bastard trying to do? And, oh Devil take me now, where's Chachamaru when I need her most?

And through it all, Negi Springfield was calm as a blade of grass dancing in the wind. His gleaming blue-hued glasses, seemingly aglow in the light pollution of the city, betrayed no emotion; only a surgical pin point precision, like a skulking laser zeroing in on a unsuspecting target's perspiring forehead, moments before the crack of thunder.

"Target area in sight. Calling the ball... Grav-Con Unit, reading maximum charge: deploy [_**Floater Field**_] on my mark. ...NOW."

Just like that lightning struck, again, emerging from within, an ionizing maelstrom of free-floating particles and fork-tongued prongs of plasma enveloped the two plummeting figures in a sphere of brilliant blue. Their velocity did not slow, nor did their trajectory alter course, heading straight for the main concourse of the much abused Mahora Bay Bridge. The landing was catastrophic, setting of a terrific thunderclap that discharged electricity every which way, with wild abandon.

But when all was said and done, The Doctor merely reasserted himself, as if having done no more than stepped off a platform onto his waiting train. He stood, hardly paying any heed to the scattered crackling discharges of static energy still clinging to the area. In fact, the boy professor looked expectant, his languid posture demanding some manner of fanfare, divine or mundane, be brought out in his honor.

"Please, allow me to speak: _Waaaiiii_... _Pachi_, _pachi_, _pachi_, _pachi_..." a certain familiar voice droned on flatly, fulfilling that very conceited expectation, perhaps unwittingly. "I, this Karakuri Chachmaru, am most impressed. Well done, Springfield-_sensei_; it is our complete, sweeping defeat."

Stepping out from behind supporting strut, the head maid to Girl Queen of Darkness made her appearance once more, battered and humbled. Her uniform was all but lost, her hair a mess, and bits of crude glass still clung to her frame; nevertheless, Chachamaru managed to give off a dignified air, as expected of a dutiful maid in the employ of an old blood family.

"Chachamaru, you're all-" any heartfelt sympathy Evangeline might have expressed at seeing her companion, alas, will never be known, thanks to the overriding priority of her pride. "HEY! What do you think you're saying, you stupid maid bot? I never gave you permission-"

"Nobody likes a sore loser, _Miss _MacDowell," Negi breathed curtly, cutting the infuriated Dead Apostle off.

"I have to agree with Springfield-sensei, _ojou_-sama. We're out of moves. I'm damaged to the point where self-preservation has become a priority. You've been handicapped again, and must I remind you that you're naked as an infant's bare bottom, who's only source of modesty lies in the arms of her enemy?"

"HUWHA-hwahhawhahwhahwhaahahah?" it was self-evident by her panicked redness that Eva, too, just apprised herself of the inconvenient fact.

"And your hair," Chachamaru added, after some second thoughts, "according to my detached observation, appears to be attempting in equal measure the impression of an afro and punched perm from all the static electricity in the air."

"EEEeeeeeeekkkkkkkk!"

Hoping to mollify his now annoyingly fretting "charge", whom squirmed and wriggled in his arms, as if her entire being had been lit on fire, Negi tried to get in his own gainsay, "I think, an afro might be an exaggeration there, Karakuri-kun; a fresh perm is a much more accurate description."

"NOOOOooooooooooooooo! Lem'me go! Release me! Unhand me! ...something. ANYTHING! You fiend. Devil. Pervert. Sadist! Ugyaaaahhhhh!"

"Please, allow me to speak: Eva-sama, frankly, I believe insulting Springfield-sensei to his face at point blank range is detrimental to your plight for freedom."

"_Iiiiiiyyyyaaaaaaa_! Cha-Cha-MARU, SAVE ME!"

"Karakuri-kun, I think, your mistress has reached the end of her tether. She's gone bonkers."

"Waaaaaaaaaaaa~!"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you..._sensei_."

"Of course, it is not every day I get to see my delinquent students reduced to a sweeter shade of red, but enough games, the eve tires and I know just the thing to fix this anxiety attack. Pip, pip, CHEERIO!"

Then, in a flutter of rustling cloth, The Doctor performed a legerdemain so swiftly that his sole witness could not track his exact methodology. The result, however, was most gratifying, leaving a dumbfounded Evangeline A.K. MacDowell deposited on her own two petite feet, and almost swallowed whole in the leather folds of his worn duster. Ah, but the best was yet to come; now, for the strawberry on the cake, Negi reached for his own signature ten-gallon hat.

"Here to looking at you, squirt," he winked slyly, before donning his hat on her silly head, "and if I recall correctly, you have some words for me, do you not?"

The playful mercury in the boy magister's voice was like a shot of adrenaline injected straight into her backside, Evangeline jumped and bristled back at her tormentor and benefactor in a profusion of red.

"_Uuuuuu_, YOU. I haven't lost yet! You might have won the hour, but this trial isn't over, not by a long shot, if I have anything to say about it. In fact...! Yeah. This is a recess. A recess, I tell you! So you'd better remember-"

Negi sighed, shooting a long suffering look skyward, as if he were the unfortunate victim here, and not the other way around, "Still~, clinging on to your delusions, is it? _Ugh_. How disappointing."

Suffice to say, his dry contempt only inflamed the Dark Evangel, making her passion burn even brighter.

"NO. I believe!" she stomped her foot down, hard, ignoring the jolt of pain shooting up her ankle and shin, with a ferocious smile. "And because I believe in him, I won't sit here and let someone else bad mouth him. That's MY privilege! And MINE ALONE! I am going to find him, you hear me? Find Nagi Springfield, The Thousand Master! And prove you DEAD wrong! You don't have the faintest-"

"Ahhh, certainly that _**was**_," The Doctor drawled back curtly, with an askance glance,"the famed Thousand Master's birth name last I checked, but I find myself perplexed... Just how do you propose to effect such an investigation to dredge up new evidence that would over turn MY truth, E-BAAaaa-_swan_~? _Fu fu fu fu fu_. Do not get hot and bothered now, saying you misspoke and forgot that you are still **chained **to this prison."

"Kuh! I... I'll find a way! And even if I can't leave... IT'S NOT LIKE I'M ALL ALONE ANYMORE! CHA-CHA-MARU."

"...Mistress?" blinked Chachamaru, distracted from her intrigued scrutiny of the newly revealed occult "odds and ends" on Negi's person that he had hid underneath his duster.

In fact, she dared to hypothesized that everything on his person now, minus the engraved leather bandolier, which he wore over a concealable shoulder harness with holster and tactical attachment points, was originally inside his duster. The white fitted dress shirt would be difficult to clean if soiled in blood, but could make for serviceable emergency gauze. On the other hand, the dark-hued double-breasted waistcoat just seemed awfully vain. Then again, the boy professor would not be who he was, if he did not allow room for some vanity. If her mistress insisted on going into battle displaying her extensive lingerie collection, then Professor Springfield could hardly be faulted for wearing components from a three-piece business suit.

Ah, but where were her manners? Thank goodness, multitasking operations were second nature to her, otherwise it would be very true that she had been spacing out.

"Chachamaru," Evangeline addressed her in a rare solemn tone, "though you might be my youngest companion in a long, long while, I...I know you can do it. With the right preparation, such a journey is within the realm of possibility for you! You're strong. You have a good head on your shoulders. And. And-"

The head maid was touched, actually, but her personality layer could not help but wonder if she was suffering yet another catastrophic malfunction. In all of her time serving Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, Chachamaru never once conceived of the day, when the vampire girl would express such...confidence in another that was not somehow tied to her own superiority. It was a genuine compliment, with nary a trace of ego.

But before she could express her bashful humbleness, as expected of the script, Doctor N. Springfield had his own candor to add to the unfolding drama.

"Fwhahahahahaha! What a most delicious answer!" he clapped his hands together in an enthusiastic air of applause. "GOOD. Very good. Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine such words coming from my dear boss delinquent student's mouth towards her underlings no less! Yes, yes, yes, this won't bore me at all."

"Rrrrrr, who's a boss delinquent? HUH!" Evangeline bristled irately at him. She absolutely loathed it when unpleasant individuals would boorishly interrupt her. They had no appreciation what so ever for just how hard it was for her to descend to the level of mere mortals, and forget her immortality for a time!

"Iihihihihihihaha. ...Ah, what a relief! I was correct, after all, to bet on you, Evangeline."

His laughter was unbearable, but his honeyed words were more disturbing still.

"B, Bet on me?"

"I have decided it," stated Negi, his lips playing back in that catty million dollar smile, an ominous omen of misfortune never clearer, "I will take the initiative to the old men and push for your parole."

Oh yes, it was a most disturbingly absurd statement.

"Wa, wa, wha, WHAT!"

"Of course, I will become your parole officer, you blowhard trollop. _Hu hu hu hu hu_! But fear not, my dear, I shall make a proper Victorian CAT out of you yet!"

"D, d, do you realize what you're saying, you twisted, crazy bastard!" squawked Evangeline in a flabbergasted stupor. She could not believe it. She could not believe what she was hearing at all.

"Crystal clear, and if you continue to display such delectable behavior, I might even see to it you are freed for good."

**Insane**.

"Y, you... Free. ME? ...That's preposterous. Stop making up lies and-"

He must be INSANE.

"Why would I lie, when is it not plain to see that I have taken an interest in this - witch hunt of ours? I want to see it through to the end: _**The Hunt for The Thousand Master**_! Ha ha ha ha, it has a wonderful yet awful jingle to it, does it not?"

Eva paused. A cold fear knotted in her stomach, as the whole world seemed to watch on in bated breaths of what was to come next.

"The hunt for..." Chachamaru supplied, unhelpfully, and perhaps out of a need to satisfy her own morbid curiosity.

"Thank you, Karakuri-kun," Negi drawled, his smile never wavering. "Now, see here, Eva... Ah ha ha ha ha... OH, E~va, E~va, E~va~! You might have put your grudge aside, _for now_, but thanks to your incessantly petulant behavior, I am afraid I have become infected with your spirit of vengeance."

The Dark Evangel shivered, beneath the odd incline of his chin that brightened the loathsome gleam of his glasses. They reminded her of the big, bright spotlights that hovered usually above a dentist's operating chair, and she never did learn to show some fondness for dentists. Poking, prodding, fiddling, _drilling _around...

"So you had best get your answers before I find him first, Evangeline Athanasia Katherine MacDowell. Otherwise, I am afraid there will only be... A Thousand Master was He? _Iihihihihihihihi_! Well, I might reconsider ENDING him, but Mister Nagi Springfield will most certainly not be a HE, after I am done with his wretched hide. He troubled me, without ever meeting me in person! That is just inexcusably TERR~IBLE manners; he needs to be taught a lesson, and he can blame his misfortune for sharing the same surname as ME."

Too much; too much was happening all at once; she...she never wished for such an ending to happen! Hell, Eva did not have a clue how it was possible she could be standing here at all. The vampire girl thought she had given up on everything, but when she opened her eyes, once more Eva felt the drive to live on. It was all very mysterious and miraculous to her, this sudden about face, as if she had been thunderstruck by some epiphany in the short span of blissful unconsciousness.

"I, Doctor N. Springfield, am no shadow, no charlatan, and I am NO crying babe longing for the bosom of his matriarch! My eyes will shed, NO MORE TEARS. Give me knowledge, give me armor, and give me arms, so that I will have the courage to realize the harsh truth of wisdom!"

So why was such an awful ending happening now?

"Let my anger resound to the heavens! For many a day now, I have been slandered by this lazy, boorish bastard, The Thousand Master; a man I will never meet, and have no desire to do so...until this night."

He was mad.

"_Hu hu hu hu_... **Him**, a hero, because he is hailed so by name, burned down a country, and saved a whorish damsel or eight? ...I have saved worlds and made DARK. THINGS, the stuff of nightmares prostrate themselves in supplication, begging ME for mercy, when there is none to be had for their heinous crimes...! And I have never once been hailed a glorious son by the sheltered sheep. Instead, they give me: INFAMY."

Ranting. _Raving_. He was furiously mad, and she should pay no attention to such wanton nonsense, lest Eva become deluded herself. Clearly, Negi Springfield was not right in the head. Him? Take on The Thousand Master? Him? A hero? Any way, she looked at it; the common sense of the prey animals would state that NEGI SPRINGFIELD was the villain here, and the girl vampire was responsible for making a new enemy for the people's folk hero and her heart's desire, The Thousand Master.

"So, Eva-_swa~n_, let it be known that your hero's days are numbered. He is a braggart, an opportunist, and a heartless, dishonorable, philandering louse! He was only so great by being carried on the shoulders of others, and squandering all the glory for himself! I will unmask this false hero, and expose him for the repugnant, craven VILLAIN he is, without fail. DEATH will be the least of his worries when I catch him! ...Afterward, I promise, I will feed you the leftover scraps, my cute kitty kat~, _ku ku ku ku_...HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

And then, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell blanched, and could not resist the primal urge to reach up and finger at her throat, flushing as if it had been burned, all the way around. Why? Why did it feel as if her fate had just been...sealed? Springfield. He was just making empty threats and boasts, right? ...Right?

On the other end of the spectrum, the machinator responsible for causing such profound dread in the Dark Evangel, fittingly enough, only registered a vague clue of what horrors he had wreaked upon his delinquent pupil. See, Professor Negi Springfield was just too preoccupied basking in the heady glow of success, having placed his bets against fate to win the critical hand right on the river. It had been a long shot among long shots that Evangeline could be salvaged, after such a meticulous deconstruction by himself. Therefore: when would he ever have a time to congratulate himself, if not now?

Note to self, thought The Doctor with a fiendish grin, henceforth, I owe Leviathan of Envy a week's worth of "Rent-a-Doctor" time whenever she feels up to it. Contrary to what Mammon (who now owes me a lot of kickbacks) would protest, her big sister is a miracle worker, when she is in her element! Without her intervention in the Dead Apostle's soul space, everything would have been for naught.

Although considered the weakest of them all, the Arbitrator of Envy more than proved her worth today, and that her place as second in line within the hierarchy of the Sisters of Purgatory was not for show. Just the same, Negi's threat was no idle nonsense spoken in the heat of the moment. With all of his strength, he intended to pursue The Thousand Master to the far reaches of reality, and put an end to his "legend" for good, that is _**after **_his obligations as a school teacher has ended.

After all, the boy magister reckoned he would be rendered into a state known as the doldrums, at that point in time. Gifted thus, with more free time to kill than he would know how to utilize in the short term, while The Doctor waited for his next assignment, he could use the opportunity to hunt down his newly christened nemesis, just for fun! Oh, how profitable it was, the road to hell, paved with good intentions.

"So!" Negi struck the final proverbial nail, flourishing a knifehand in a crisp sweeping cut. "In conclusion, this trial is, now, adjourned, and let it be known that I have had IT to bollocks with The Thousand Master for one-"

What Doctor N. Springfield was not expecting the, was to be interrupted by an uninvited stalker.

"OB~JECTION~!" bellowed the interloper in a voice equal to his bombast, and more uncannily, identical in every way.

Verily, he must be imagining things, or it was Blackie employing the darklings in some manner of elaborate prank; at least, such was the bespectacled English gentleman's wistful hope, anyhow. How else was it possible that both Evangeline and Chachamaru would look utterly astounded and disbelieving at once? ...Which they should not be bewildered, because the former should have told the latter that his elemental contracts could assume his shape and manner flawless, not to mention their earlier experience with "Kamikaze Johnny Onion".

"Ah ha ha ha, o~kay," he caroled aloud, pivoting about toward the source of the voice, "_darklings_, who is the young punk...?"

Shortly thereafter, Negi Springfield's glib words died prematurely in his throat, as if still born. His jaw dropped; for across the way, high atop clad in a white swallowtail tuxedo and a matching wide brimmed hat atop his auburn mop, was another Negi Springfield, complete in every way down to the playful quirk of his near ever present smile. The White Doctor stood in - THAT POSE #17 (read: The Master - You're Full of It, you [**INFERNO DIVIDER!**], and I'm gonna cut you down to size!). That is to say, the doppleganger leveled his gloved forefinger at The Doctor like a loaded gun, pointing down accusingly, with an unshakeable conviction, as the wind surged to life once more, sending his immaculate fashion a flutter.

"To the honorable Court of Illusions, I, **NEGI T**. _SILVER__**BERG**_, demand a retrial, AT ONCE!"

YEEEAAAAAAHHH!

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Production Notes:

Wow. It's finally done. Gosh, this was surprisingly intensive, almost at the 10,000 word mark actually. I admit I had quite a bit of trouble writing this one, thanks to a combination of being burned out, real life commitments, and the aesthetic demands of the chapter. The layout change really wasn't the issue, I assure you. In fact, even now, I think the whole production is uneven all over the place, but it's also because transitions through several moods and tones all in one go.

See, this episode in my best understanding was a very cerebral piece, as the goal was to create a situation where Eva could move on and begin to find closure in an old episode of her life that's been haunting her for almost two decades. In true Doctor-style, Negi pretty much made her dig a hole so deep for herself that she'd get buried to death by her own delusions / angst, or she'd wake up and realize it's time to stop feeling sorry for herself, get off her butt, and go find the truth for herself. Why I adopted this path is because I strongly believe that the only thing, really, preventing Evangeline from escaping Mahora Academy for the entire length of her incarceration was just herself.

Jesus, this is the individual who was known as the Girl Queen of Darkness. She is not stupid. ...Okay, maybe a little stupid. But seriously? It took her 18 years just to figure out that the curse keeping her in check also uses the local power grid as a power source? Get outta here, Ken Akamatsu. That's just amateurish!

Other things this chapter... Well, A LOT HAPPENED, again. Just lots. References everywhere like PHOENIX WRIGHT, SCRUBS~! ...It's so much, it makes my brain hurt to think about it all at present time, that is one in the morning as I write this... I wish I could be like Chachamaru now, and take extra ranks in multi-tasking. _Pachi_, by and by, is the Japanese equivalent of the sound effect for clapping. Ughhh...

But yeah, that Negi T. Silverberg fella... If you didn't see this arch nemesis coming along, and you can find him by the way in the production notes / sketches from the Negima Volume 1 graphic novel / tankoubon... Well, I guess, I still have the touch. I am a huge fan of irony, foreshadowing, symbolism, and all sorts of little things like that, see? So, I thought that might given it all away.

If there is a Doctor Who, then by all their must be an equally witty Arch Bastarde to stand against him, so that the cosmic balance will be restored in the universe!

C'mon, you all didn't really expect me to throw Fate-of-the-Last Name-that-doesn't-ring-a-bell-right-now as the Counter Troll to Doctor N. Springfield's Trolling, now, did you? Gosh, that kid's so bland; he wouldn't know the value of a good insult, if it ripped his balls right of his pecker! Mind games, yo. Mind games! Gotta hit 'em for SIDE~WAYS!

As for how twisted Silverberg will be, well, y'all are gonna have to wait until the next gig. I'll try my best not to disappoint now that I have most likely set expectations through the roof.

That said, I am truly honored by the amazing turn out from our fans in the last episode. Its folks like you who motivate me to keep going through thick and thin, so I hope this piece continues with the right spring in my step and entertained you all. Do brace yourselves for our next production, because I have this feeling... It's gonna be a blast.

That's right, folks, I'm taking the kid's gloves off, and putting on display what a real fight at Doctor N. Springfield's level is all about. Look forward to it, savvy?

Peace.


	21. Chapter 21

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. Beware: there is enough Dastardly Basterdery ahead to consider a change in your Alignment. Why is it the bad guys always have a better fashion sense than everyone else?

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 21:

nocturne ~ Something Wicked This Way Comes

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

His palms were tingling incessantly, like a colony of flame ants were crawling around inside, excavating everything in a honey comb warren straight down to the marrow of his bones. It was an excruciating pain that flushed the boy magister's handsome complexion red, and narrowed his eyes into menacing slits, as he gaze up at the source of his great perturbation. A perfect reflection of himself clothed white that replied his vehemence with an artful doff of his own wide-brimmed hat, adorned with a trio of silver rings to one side that punctuated the moment with a savvy tinkle. Indeed, it was a grudgingly fashionable match to the silvery sash belted around the white silhouette's waist.

"Ladies and rogues, so good to see you!" the White Prince chorused in dulcet tones. "A thousand kisses, and my belated apologies in not greeting you sooner, while allowing these third-rate wretches to parade their shame about in mockery of true art, but never fear, the main attraction for our witching hour begins, NOW."

Opposite of his jovial smile, a feral snarl played the Black Prince's lips as the former snapped his immaculate white gloved fingers. The black one could not stand it. Could not understand it! This repugnant, oily feeling... It could not be...!

All of his thoughts lead to a singular hypothesis.

_Am I afraid - __**trembling **__at the sight of THAT smug bastard_?

From that crisp rapport, Silverberg sounded the chord for an even more fantastic display than a cityscape wreathed in flame and smoke. The "Stage" hummed, and the city shook with an unruly moan, lights flickered, as a palpable, undulating wave of force bloomed. Springfield stood his ground, hardly paying any heed to the pain whimpers of the much abused Mahora Bay Bridge. His attention was fixed at his white clad doppelganger, who threw his head back into a roaring laugh that punctuated the rising tempo of the sorcerous phenomenon, which appeared to be drawing power from all over the city and the heavens themselves.

Of course, The Doctor could see the source, a nexus of arcane energies now becoming visible to the naked in a literal maelstrom of crackling white, high above that gathered even the dark thunderheads into its vacuum-like gravity. Bigger and fatter it grew, before abruptly exploding in an earsplitting crack, not unlike thunder, from which a massive dome of scintillating light was born. As if an aurora of red and green color, it drew down like a curtain, blanketing the Mahora Academy campus area in a feat that easily put the smaller, activated pockets of blue temporal displacement fields to shame.

Negi was impressed only by the titanic waste of effort required to execute such a grandiose display, at least based on his knowledge of arcanoscience anyhow. Scans indicate ambient levels of mana had dropped drastically, but even then, the relative availability should not have been enough to power such a huge and powerful "Bounded Field" for any practical amount of time, in the first place. That said, escape was nigh impossible at the moment, and his ability to effect any communication was at the mercy of his enemies precisely, as he lacked the power and expertise to generate an appropriate counter field.

"H, hey, Springfield-_baka_!" spoke up Idiot Bystander A shrilly. "What's, what's going on?

"Please, allow me to speak: _sensei_, I have similar concerns," added fatally Objective Observer B. "From my last feeds, the power grid for Mahora Academy City has gone completely dark, along with any radio or cellular telemetry to speak of. Also, my chronometer appears to be malfunctioning."

Ah, these two bumbling idiots... What a time to have an audience, for an occasion that should strictly be on a per invitation basis only, Doctor N. Springfield resisted the urge to sweat profusely in irritation and shame, which he defeated by substituting the reflex for a more dignified response: propping up his glasses by the bridge of his nose.

"We are trapped in a [_Bounded Field_], not that I expect a pair of country plebes like you to know what one is, since it is considered top secret research even now in The Wizarding World, and alas, I cannot be bothered to provide an explanation. All you need to know is that HE," this point, Negi emphasized by brandishing his silver revolver at the interloper in white, "or someone HE knows can use one, and if HE has any brains, we are now in a most precarious precipice, on the verge of catastrophe. Do not count on any rescue. We are on our own; in a time and place not out of our choosing, where we _will _have to fight our way out of this mess. Count on it."

"Hweehhhh! Are you serious?" Evangeline blanched, reacting like a proper schoolgirl her age, when faced with an absurd circumstance. Her manner was almost comical, actually, with the way she huddled and shivered inside the expanse of his duster that was all too big on her small frame.

"_Miss _MacDowell, when am I never not serious, under grave circumstances?"

As for Chachamaru Karakuri, well, her academic response spoke for herself, with interest.

"Query: if it's top secret research as you stated in _Magica Mundus_, why are you privy to this information, _sensei_?"

"Classified, Karakuri-kun. Classified," nevertheless, Negi saw an opportunity, and he was never the kind to be ungrateful for a perfectly fine gift horse. "If you want to know, consider a change in your employment, and we will - **talk **sometime, savvy?"

"Heeeeeehhhhh! HEY. What're you suggest-"

"Hmm. If you succeed in your lobbying for _ojou_-sama's parole, consider it done, Springfield-sensei."

"You realize, I will hold you to those words, yes?"

"HEEEEYYYY! Don't I get a say in this?" protested the vampire girl, her complexion beet red from yelling at the top of her lungs.

The self-styled cowboy's answer was plain to see, thumbing back the hammer of his priceless revolver with a riveting _**click**_, while the head maid stood off to the side, ready to intervene on her young mistress's behalf, but no more. Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, the Girl Queen of Darkness, had just been overruled, much to her wallowing dismay.

"As for you, (sorry to keep you waiting, by the way), perhaps I heard wrong, but just now... Those words you spoke, so nonchalantly, sounded an awful lot like fighting words to me, no?"

The White Prince responded with even more bombastic bravado, letting loose a passionate holler as his whole body disintegrated shockingly in a golden spray of butterflies.

"But, of course (oh, do not mind me terribly; I happen to enjoy the more endearing squabbling of commoners), they are! Did you honestly expect any less from THE MAN, who will take _ev_~erything and leave **nothing **of you to remain, Negi. Springfield?"

Alarms sounded in the boy magister's head at the fantastical sight, his pupils widening ever so slightly, as he withstood the bittersweet venom of his foe. Golden butterflies? It could not be...could it? He must be dreaming, and if such was the case, then this had to be a nightmare, bar none!

"Bah! How sad, honestly," drawled Silverberg impossibly so, disembodied altogether, yet still coherent all the same. "I expected more out of an educated gentleman, but to think even academics from the highest levels of education are dullards, unable to cure your boorish instincts...UGH! You are little more than a pungent beast masquerading in the clothes of a man. Have you no shame?"

The storm of butterflies descended to the main concourse, much to the wonder of all witnesses present. In particular, Evangeline was at a loss for words, as she watched the conceitedly radiant wizard in white reconstitute himself, bit by bit, as if he had been merely in the process of swaggering towards them. To any ordinary girl, Silverberg was resplendent in an effulgent afterglow, a handful of the golden butterflies still gathered about him in a most gorgeous sight, but some gut instinct told her to be wary.

Why is it, I wonder that I feel as if such bijou is unsuited to this - _knave_? thought the vampire girl, narrowing her eyes crossly at his imminent arrival. He might strut and preen himself like a prince, but a knave is still a knave! And those marvelous butterflies... (How nostalgic. ...but why?) They belong to someone much grander, much more noble than... Ah, oh no, he's looking right at me!

"And YOU, _Queen of the Night_," the doppelganger in white named her epithet, unpleasantly, "what say you of your disgrace? Huh! Can you imagine how ashamed **my **Honorable Father would be to see in such seedy, disreputable company? **Feh**. ...then again, I suppose, it was too much to expect any better from a never do well, _peasant _girl, so fickle and quick to latch on like a **leech **to the first warm body that shows her _any _interest."

The color drained from Evangeline's cheeks under that harsh castigation. How could he speak with such authority? It would be laughable, had it not been for the lack thereof any mocking mirth on that handsome face. He was serious, and she knew what was coming next, could see it in this Negi T. Silverberg's eyes, from which a gruesome hint of malice seeped through his natural charm, like poisoned wine. Worst of all, Eva felt utterly powerless to resist the power of that descending executioner's sword wielded by this leering bastard, who would enjoy every heart beat of crushing her still very much fragile resolve beneath his heel.

"You. Wh-"

Imagine the Dark Evangel's surprise when her sudden deliverance came at the thunderous bark of a gun. It appeared Messer Silverberg had forgotten that as much as he had a metaphorical gun leveled at another's heart, there was still the very real and present danger of Doctor N. Springfield. One second there walked the falsely angelic Negi in white, the next second he was consumed in a brilliant blazing flash, leaving only choking smoke and the infernal crackling from discharging static.

"Blah, blah, blah, blah-blah, BLAH. Oh, shaddup already, YE JACK RABBITS ARSE," bellowed the Negi in black over the hot gun smoke trailing from his silver revolver, "I OWN the God flipping monopoly on teasing my students, and no one else gets a piece of the pie, unless I. Say. SO."

Ever the diligent observer, Chachamaru could ill resist the temptation to offer her own dry words of wisdom, as The Doctor continued in his passionate diatribe.

"_Sensei_... I, Karakuri Chachamaru, confess I must conclude that your wording was not particularly apropos. If anything, it swelled your image more that of a villain, _correction_, a demon than the actual villain of the hour."

The boy magister, naturally, did not hear a word of it, leaving only Evangeline to suffer alone in scandal.

"Goodness, I could have shot your bollocks off twenty times over, while-"

Thankfully, the verbal assault on the not-so-virgin ears of all present spectators, courtesy of The Doctor's trademark bloodletting lip service (never mind the fact his sterling revolver was a six-shooter), ended a lot sooner than expected. Punctuated by hair raising electric whine emanating from within the blooming column of smoke and flame, a sneering amused laugh cut through the tension. There, a sudden gust of air parted the choking curtain of black and grey, for the marvelous Negi T. Silverberg to step through.

He stood, surrounded in a crackling, shimmering bubble of pure energy. The diaphanous sphere appeared to be projected from a mysterious mechanism of engraved, pristine white metal with gold-trim to the back of his right gloved hand. Its protective shutters opened to reveal a pulsating, glowing pale blue orb ensconced in its center.

"_Shishishi_! What is the matter, Springfield? Cat got your tongue? _Hu hu hu hu_!"

Indeed, The Doctor had his jaws agape at the startling sight, while his keen intellect wrestled mightily with the implications derived from his observations, quantitative and qualitative.

A [_Fortress Barrier_]? More importantly the output on that unknown blastia, it is equal, **no**, greater than my own! What kind of arcane formula are they using? Is this some kind of sick joke? Impossible. It cannot be!

The situation, rightly so, called for a reexamination of the data, under closer scrutiny, and thus, the boy magister switched his A.R. glasses' auspex to active scanning. After all, The Society's mastery of arcanoscience should have no equal on this earth, unless...

"Ahhhh, that itches!" cried Silverberg, staggering abruptly as he deactivated his barrier blastia, with no more than a passing afterthought. "Itches, itches, itches, OOOooo, it REAL~LY itches! He he he he, and it just won't do at all, is that not right, Springfield, you. filthy. VOYEUR?"

It was no idle insult, and only by the grace of sharp spike of agitated pain in his tingling palms did the Negi in black tear the glasses from his face just in the knick of time. The A.R. glasses burned out, with an ill, mournful wail, as its nano-fabricated components suffered an unexpected - _catastrophic _failure. Shorting out one by one with a hiss of unpleasant ozone, at the behest of some unseen force, a few scant moments later, there was little more than a liquefied blue-tinged mass of composite materials cooling in his tender black gloved hand, much to The Doctor's extreme indignation.

"Dah! (Sorcerous Electronic Counter Measures, is it?) You bastard...I have had these glasses for three years! What a pity. ...Say, just WHO do you work for, huh? In my golden experience, there is no way some run of the mill riff raff should have access to that kind of **black **technology."

"Me? Riff raff, you say? Ah ha ha ha! O Vociferous Beast, surely you jest! If you would open your teary eyes and see past your foul rank, then you shall see, without a doubt, I am the most noble prince of them all."

Springfield snarled, his growing black rage threatening to undo the tenuous thread of his cool reason altogether, as he tossed aside the remains of his glasses, and took a bold step forwards, brandishing his silver revolver empathetically. Never mind it was devoid of bullets, just the act of defiance mattered, reminding him that he still had control of a rapidly deteriorating situation. The ever logical academic in him, however, noted that trembling in his arm had not subsided; in fact, the frequency was increasing. Soon, it would become obvious even to the densest dunce that some matter was amiss.

_No. This is not a fear response. It is deeper, more nostalgic, and much more - BLACK._

"A noble prince, you say? You cocksure rat, you dare to make light of me to my face? Heh. That is some guts you got there. Good. Very good. This is not boring at all! I am going to enjoy making you see the insides of _them_."

_Why. Why. WHY DOES HE HAVE MY FACE? MY VOICE? MY SMILE? THE OBVIOUS THINGS THAT MAKE ME_...**Me**?

"What an empty boast! _Shishishishi_! Tell me, beast, you and what raggedy pack will make good on your threat, hmm?"

..._That's right. This feeling must be_: **Hatred**.

As if by caprice, all the hot, surly rage watering to the surface of The Doctor's eyes left him, and its place came a ruthless purity of purpose, his gaze transformed into cold steel. The subtle tremor in the cowboy's arm subsided into a gentle lull. Holstering his sterling revolver in an elegant flourish, before he reached over with his free hand towards his utility belt, The Doctor withdrew a dreadful twin-pronged razor sharp dagger of malicious design, sliding it free from its sheathe in a sibilant hiss of metal on metal. Reversing his grip on the pitch-black blade that held no hint of a sheen or fond ostentation, it became clear that the dagger was purely a tool - for **murder**, and the cool night air returned to its familiar arctic freeze.

"_Miss _MacDowell, Karakuri-kun; my sincerest apologies, but I am going to have to impose on you," said Springfield mirthlessly. "You see, Karugazaka over there at your five o'clock, her feet poking out from behind the strut? Grab her and RUN."

Despite the obvious intent of his opposite number, the White Prince did not cease his belligerent swagger in the slightest; in fact, he grew bolder.

"Ah ah, ah ah! That won't do at all, third-rate," Silverberg waggled an admonishing finger, in a sing a song tone. "_Shishishishi_, I happen to have business with _that _girl, you see?"

What a time to act the age she looked to be; Evangeline grimaced, in spite of herself, fraught with a sudden swell of unease, as she felt crushed between the overwhelming dominance of the two prowling "Princes", poised to spring at each other in macabre carnage at the slightest drop of a pin. It was unbelievably embarrassing, but what could she do, powerless as she was, at the mercy of these two maniacs? Hell, even Chachamaru with her precision poker face seemed to be hesitating on a oh-so-logical course of action.

"Tough luck, boy scout. I am her teacher, and the hall monitor on duty tonight. Curfew is in effect, so you can take your beeswax, turn it sideways, and shove it up y'er arse."

"Ha. Then, it cannot be helped, I suppose. Allow me to up the ante, eh?" Silverberg paused in his advance, and swept his hand before him, as if he were a king giving his imperial command. "By the order of our sacred covenant, I, Negi T. Silverberg, command you: come forth, my bosom companions, Successors of the One-Winged Eagle! MISERY. BALROG."

A gleam of gold on his jacket caught The Doctor's eye, and shamefully, he felt his breath grow erratic and pitched with panic.

The One-Winged Eagle! Impossible, is that a golden wing emblazoned on the lapel of his jacket? Why did I not notice it before? ...It looks just like the iconic design on the Stakes of Purgatory's uniforms! And... If you factor in the golden butterflies, too... NO. No, no, no, no. Not now! It cannot be. I won't accept it. This farcical travesty! It has to be a delusion!

The momentary hesitation cost him dearly, however, as the foe gracefully by-passed his defenses, from above.

"HHHUUUZZZZZAAAAAHhhhhhh!" bellowed a digitized, masculine voice in a joyful rebel yell, as he smashed into the main concourse with a thunderous crash.

The backlash of momentum sent a terrible quake through the cracking asphalt that nearly threw the boy magister of his feet, as the center of gravity shifted by the absurd mass of the individual who had appeared spectacularly in their midst. Lady Luck, however, was not so kind to his students, namely the less than composed one. Evangeline fell flat on her rump, with an indignant shriek. The Doctor's worn duster saved her from added insult to injury, but her misfortune also put her right on the warpath with the new interloper.

A figure, wide as he was tall, towered over her, garbed in a prodigious black cloak that covered the entirety of his immense boxy bulk. From within his dark, cavernous cowl, a pair of glowing beady yellow eyes gazed down maliciously at the helpless vampire girl.

"Found one~! Now, stay still so I can SQUISH you," boomed the creature with a hearty laugh.

Springfield cursed his luck for not having time to reload, and the inconvenience of losing his wand when he so desperately required one now.

"Oh, bollocks. Mac-"

"Eva-sama!"

Seeing her haughty young mistress in danger, Chachamaru overrode her self-preservation protocols against her better judgment. She moved to intercept come what may that meant to be loosed from within the giant's billowing cloak, emblazoned with a single golden winged crest and wreathed in matching wavy flame. Thankfully, there was to be no valiant sacrifice this festive eve: a rapid column of water blasting into the side of the cloaked executioner, with concussive force, saw to the end of that notion.

Lesser men and beasts alike would have suffered severe internal injuries and broken bones from the sudden hydro jet's terrific pressure, as they were swept aside like mere twigs to a rip tide. Indeed, Silverberg's lackey was bowled clean over, and thrown back for good measure, but his prodigious bulk sapped much of the conjured attack's strength, and did little more than to inconvenience him, evidently so.

"Uwaaaaahhh! Cor blimey, I'm all soaked! Oh, the inhumanity, Ol' Balrog's gonna rust like this, I tell you. Rust to death! Eya~aghhh! Whatever shall I-OUCH."

Another hand silenced the flailing waterlogged giant, stomping down directly onto his broad visage by the spiked butt of a majestic eagle-winged scepter. It was a murderous blow, with far more strength than belied by the slender, elegant nature of the arm adorned in shear satin evening gloves. Indeed, this particular individual, garbed in equally mysterious fashion, though more suited to normal human proportions, would have done much harm to a creature of flesh and blood.

The resounding echo of metal on metal pointed out that Balrog was far from anything so feeble.

"OUCH. Misery~, OUCH, will you cut it out, lady? I was only exercising-OUCH."

The conical witch's hat crowning her cowl said plenty for Misery's calling in life. The disparate differences in size aside, it was marvel alone to watch the witch bully her colleague into submission, with a judicious application of her scepter, which did not seem to be doing much more than annoying the tar out of Balrog.

"Okay, okay, I gots it, you shrieking banshee. Pipe down and let me up."

Stranger still, the two so-called successors to "The One-Winged Eagle" seemed to be carrying on a snappy tongue and cheek conversation exclusive to themselves. Nary a sound had escaped from the witch's hooded cloak (_sans _any eagle-winged iconography, but sporting imagery of storm clouds and lightning bolts instead), much to shock of those watching, barring a select few.

Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova was among the said privileged individuals, appearing as if conjured in a condensed splash of water from the very air. She stood in full-caped arcane regalia, brandishing a surprisingly elegant broom of rich redwood, her irate ire reserved specifically for the gawping idiot blonde and her blinking maid, stricken with a sudden case of curious fascination.

"What are you two idiots spacing out for? Take the girl and run!"

Whereas Evangeline was preoccupied with the jaw dropping gravity of "too many things happening all at once", Chachamaru, ever the capable multi-tasking android, had the better efficacy, and presence of mind at that to not look a gift horse in the mouth. Falling back in line with her self-preservation protocols once more, she twisted about on the balls of her feet, grabbed her gobsmacked mistress into the crook of her arm, bolted over to the unconscious Asuna Kagurazaka, and made off like a thief in the night. Likely, she had achieved a new world record for orderly retreats, all without ever uttering a single breath and in a damaged state no less.

"Blimey," heaved Balrog, surrounded in a symphony of whirring motors and sinuous metal, as he rose to his full imposing height once more, with an added passenger atop his broad shoulders. "Who'd figure that half-arsed automatic doll had the potential to set a new land speed record, eh, your worship?"

Misery rapped her imperial scepter in silent agreement, all the while fixing the remaining leftovers with her veiled baleful gaze.

Such contempt, however, seemed amateurish when compared to the brilliantly smiling eyes of Negi T. Silverberg, who lavished a dainty snicker just for the occasion, "As expected of the third-rate pawns, but what more could we hope for from a pauper who surrounds himself in unseemly **garbage**? Is that not right, _Negi_. _Springfield_?"

The Doctor frowned, reaching reflexively to tip up his characteristic glasses, only to remember midway through of their recent destruction, forcing him to correct his motion into a casual ruffle of his auburn air, or at least he hoped it was the case.

"See, what proper adults have to tolerate, my darling auror? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Goodness gracious, did you pick one hell of a bloody mess to show up to; that is, I do see you, do I not, Anya?"

Naturally, Little Big Red One bristled at his thankless drawl.

"Who else did you think-"

"I would thank you, except I think you are about to become another liability, when I happened to rid myself, just now, of three. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Woe is me, is that not the truth, O Cruel Lady Luck?"

"WHAT!" his secretary reddened in flabbergasted indignation. "_Uuuuuuuuu_! Even though... Even though, I came all this way...! Springfield. YOU-!"

Good, that's the Red Ruskie, I know all right, thought The Doctor, unconcerned of the peril brewing to his left. Or at least, it is adequate enough proof in the meantime that I can trust my senses, until Silverberg decided to get creative and alter the phase of space-time even more. In fact, I had better confirm it, with the villain of the hour himself.

"This is your doing, is it not, Silverberg?"

Much to the boy magister's rancor, his double in white made a show of repeating his savvy doff of the hat once more.

"Why, of course, Springfield! Must I repeat myself that I am the noblest prince of them all? _Shishishishi_. As a prince, it is within my magnanimous nature to afford even the most wretched of my enemies a fighting chance, you see? I do not expect the likes of you, a common cur, to grasp even remotely of the concept of honor. I dare say, such nobility is beyond your station in life!"

Her outrage derailed for the moment by the maligned content of this shocking insult, Anastasia bore witness, speechless that the insufferably ineffable Negi Springfield she had come to know would bear with such belligerent abuse. What was wrong? She was here, was she not? Why was he behaving so - timidly (at least by his absurd standards, anyhow)? It could not be that standing here before them was a foe, an enemy that the spectacular Professor Negi Springfield had to fight, seriously? Unbelievable; the thought had never occurred to her once, so convinced Anya had been by his grossly inflated reputation of superiority that it would be up to her alone to become a nemesis that could make him think twice.

This Silverberg and his companions must be dangerous, incredulously so! Heavens, no wonder the stupid onion had been so disparaging to her. Just how dense can you be, Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova?

As for the savvy medicine man himself...

"Good grief," The Doctor sighed wearily, "with enemies like this, I reckon I might just have to reconsider my choice of company!"

...he was now preoccupied with rifling through his available options, against cynical odds that were becoming not in his favor, exponentially.

Dammit, where are The Stakes? I have been calling feverishly for them, but they are not responding to me at all. Why?

He loathed to summon The Sisters of Purgatory in front of another mage, whom he could not fully endorse as a comrade after his own heart. Many fear the demonic dark arts for good reasons, and Anya being a former officer of the law would no doubt be unable to reconcile the truth of his exceptional worth that he could, actually, negotiate the perils of entreating with demons and the like. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures, and a key piece that would have helped him scrape together some embattled victory had been denied to the boy magister by some circumstance that he had no knowledge of.

_Ugh_, it was unspeakably frustrating.

He refused to believe The Stakes had betrayed him, for their contract, which Doctor N. Springfield had memorized to the last blood written letter, was binding and absolute. He was well within his rights, and had done nothing whatsoever to renege on his oath, so what gives? Why would they not come to defend him, when it was within his power to defend himself? It could not be that he was deluding himself with some falsehood that he had any chance at all of beating Silverberg and his cronies, could it?

_Ridiculous_. He had all the means and the vitality to effect such an outcome; there was no way he could be mistaken!

The distant rapture of an explosion threw off his train of loathing for the umpteenth time in mere minutes. Gosh, The Doctor could recall many times in the past half a year or so bellyaching away about his boredom. It figured that his ol' chap of an archenemy, Murphy Law, would be so kind as to remit all the excitement he had been missing out on, tonight!

"Oh hell, what was that now?"

"It came from the dorms," Anya gesticulated, slowly. Taking great pains not to make any sudden moves in light of the prickly situation, she had to wonder why the instigating party across the way had not chosen to ignite an all out melee yet. "See, right there; that plume of smoke?"

"God blind me, do I see it."

They could not be savoring the consequences of their actions on purpose, could they?

"Springfield... They couldn't have, could they?"

"SIL~_VER_~**BERG**," The Doctor hollered at his opposite number, a long suffering leer afflicted to his handsome complexion, like some awful disease.

"Ah ha ha ha, how unkind of me," the eccentric wizard responsible for the present calamity took his cue to bow. "Did I forget to mention I had other companions here on campus as well? So sorry, _shishishishi_!"

The magistra magi sweated, an itchy tic gnawing away at the corner of her brow, which thankfully was hidden beneath her bent over witch's hat and auburn fringe for good measure. She had been correct in her hunch. These irregulars were a match for Negi Springfield, all right. It did not help matters that their supposed leader shared the same first name, too. How...eerie.

"Good grief, you should have told me sooner you were in the business of human trafficking," the Negi in black clucked his tongue in dry disapproval, "you corpse eating nutter, in which case I would have exercised the courtesy of putting an extra bullet into your disgusting mug."

"My, my, you are of such _small_, simple mind," riposted the Negi in white, fanning out his hands and arms wide in a magnanimous gesture, presumably. "It reminds me of observing the manner and movement of a lesser animal beneath the looking glass, poised before the surgeon's scalpel."

"_Che_."

"Aw, why the sour face? _Shishishishi_. Come now, I am but a humble contractor returning stolen goods to their rightful owners. Nothing more, nothing less."

"...As I thought, that smiling mask of yours makes me want to break out in hives. Eerie. Disgusting. And twisted! Feh. It's awful! Just. Aw-ful, I tell you!"

Oh, gods, why me? thought Kommissar Anya in vehement commiseration. Why did I do something as stupid jump into this screaming hornet's nest of maniacs?

Indeed, they were all quite crazy, speaking of darkly portents so casually, as if the present event were no more than another pleasant afternoon at teatime. Even Silverberg's lackeys joined in on the fun; Balrog's deep booming laugh, speaking volumes for his stake in the matter.

"Bwa ha ha ha, boss, this fella really knows how to talk the talk! Hee he he he, it's gonna be real boring, after we squish him. Ha ha ha ha!"

Misery rapped down her imperial scepter, again, the faintest hint of a sibilant snicker escaping from within the dark confines of her cowl.

"I agree, my bosom friends," the mastermind himself clapped his hands together, greedily. "I will remember his barking fondly, long after he has rotten away, crucified upon the cross."

As for Doctor N. Springfield, he had his own choice words to marinate the pack of hyenas, before he roasted the whole lot of them alive. His blood-letting lip service, regretfully, had to be put on hold.

"Another explosion!" Anastasia yelped, in spite of herself.

"Thank you for stating the oh-so-obvious, my _sweet _dearest cousin."

The auburn-haired girl flushed enough red at her boss's backhanded remark to throw the hyenas into another round of merry laughter. Way to show solidarity there, Springfield you jerk!

"Ha ha ha ha, but let's be frank here, methinks that little obstacle yonder is giving our dear friend and my right hand man, _Messer _Fate, some trivial exercise. Shall we all have a listen, my good friends and enemies alike? _Shishishishi_."

"Oh! I'm right up for that, your worship. Turn it up. Turn it up. Turn~ it up, just like a hi-fi ster~eo~! Bwa ha ha ha!"

Misery rapped her scepter, and it was plain to see they were all in unanimous consensus. Much to The Doctor's deepest regret, Silverberg made it clear that he was very much enjoying the preliminary mind games, before the real exchange of iron, blood, and fire would begin. The snobbish prat was dragging this out like a pair of nails to a blackboard, a maddening, painful cacophony that seemed to be endless, and now, he was going to kick up the humiliation another notch.

Reaching up for an imaginary volume knob, the White Prince ushered in an chilling transmission, audio only, with lossy artifact noise in the background that was par for the course in radio-based telemetry. At first, there were impacts, a kind of settling shower an observer would expect in light of the recent explosions, but after that came a harsh suspiring at an agitated pitch. Though coarse, it sounded feminine and dismally familiar for two individuals in the crowd listening into the waking nightmare beyond their sight.

"Hmm. How quaint," a cool, disaffected voice called out in an absent-minded tenor. "The reaction is much better than I anticipated. Speak: you are one of Negi Springfield's companions, are you not?"

The irate scrape of metal on metal said much more than what the other speaker had to say in words.

"Ehhhh! I... I have no such relation with that man! I am Sakurazaki Setsuna, a loyal guard who owes her allegiance only to the noble house of Konoe. I will fulfill my oath without fail; just watch me! Return our princess to me at once, and I promise, your due punishment will be swift and merciless, you skulking scum."

So did the dog of Konoe bare her fangs at the foeman, not that he was interested in the least by such cliché bluster. If anything, the boy called "Fate" sounded, awfully, bored by Setsuna's passionate out cry.

"Is that how it is? Hmm. Understood. It was a mistake that you were brought upon the stage, then. I apologize for the inconvenience, and am sincerely regretful, but - there is no need for you, Sakurazaki Setsuna of Konoe. Your happenstance role ends here. However, before I dispose of the unwanted extra, do entertain the thousands of apathetic eyes, watching us all, one last time with some - _nice _screams, won't you? I confess, it is the only thing that relieves my own boredom while processing such a mind numbingly _**tire**_some chore, as the Curator of Theater. _Begone_."

The rapport of another distant explosion came to no real surprise, as the grim transmission was cut off.

Anastasia bit her lip, absently wishing she could disappear from those leering face. There something wrong, very wrong with these scoundrels gathered before her under this bad moon. The way they spoke, the way they carried themselves; it was as if everything was no more than a play to Silverberg and his mean-spirited companions. Never had the magistra magi dreamed she would cross paths with individuals who could laugh gaily, yet sound so utterly mirthless. There were not joking about anything.

Oh no, they intended to fulfill every last black comedy filled oath that they had uttered tonight, and then some, if they could help it.

I thought I had met the scum of the earth already, thought the redhead cynically. _Ugh_. It goes to show how inexperienced I am, and how much more I still have to learn. ...And what about you, stupid onion? Don't you have any smart aleck insight to offer at a time like this? It's not like you to keep your mouth shut, without at least setting the record straight.

Then, The Doctor snorted with a most unkind snicker.

"Damn, that is some gratitude there; it goes to show how quick delusional individuals are to forget about my prescribed treatments. It was my mistake to believe she was responsible enough to take her medication on time, and rid herself of the illness, but I was also remiss in being distracted by another patient. Tsk, tsk, Anya, my dear~?"

A cold chill ran up the magistra magi's spine, draining the color from her complexion. The gravity of the near certain doom before her lay forgotten now in the face of a far more imperative concern: Negi Springfield was angry, a quantifiable fury matched only by the recent display he had just bequeathed on Evangeline A.K. MacDowell. To think that hellish inferno had been ignited, again, so soon after it had been quenched, Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova had little sympathy to spare for her barbarian colleague.

"Y, Yes?" she responded in a small, hesitant voice.

In fact, Kommissar Anya prayed strongly to whatever deity, who would listen that the Prince in black would not get it up to mind that she was ill and in desperate need of treatment for her supposed neurosis.

"Yes, you, my sweet, could you be so kind as to finish quickly with the big one and the witch-thing on his shoulders, and go rescue Sakurazaki-san? I fear she is about to catch a terminal case of premature death from necrotic stupidity, unless you pull her head out of the fire in time."

Oh yes, Setsuna Sakurazaki was next on his hit list of student in dire need of "rehabilitation" all right, but...

"S, Springfield. That's... A two-on-one tango... Isn't it...a bit much?"

"Would you rather fight," The Doctor stated bluntly, "the mad as a hatter freakshow in white impersonating me, instead?"

"On second thought, _tee hee hee_, I think I'll settle for the toady lackeys and go lend a hand to our barbarian friend. Sounds like she bit off a lot more than she can chew, having to face that unpleasant overdressed doofus' right hand man no less. Hmph, letting all her blood rush to her head, the fool. How unprofessional! _Tee hee hee_. SEE YOU~!"

Suffice to say, her newly designated opponents did not take well to their prey mocking them.

"Oi, I resent those-UWHA!" Balrog exclaimed in surprise as the petite witch accelerated rapidly into the sky in a crystalline trail of sparkling stardust. "That quid of little ruddy wench's runnin' away. Let's get her squishy squished, Misery!"

Hardly waiting for a reply, the cloaked behemoth himself let loose a series of ratcheting clanks that turned into a keening roar of engines, shortly thereafter, drowning out any response his passenger might have given. He shouted a jubilant cry, as the assembly of rocket thrusters fired in synchronous, heaving his prodigious bulk into the sky, with all the grace of an intercontinental ballistic missile. The scorched, melted asphalt and blooming smoke left in Balrog's wake hinted much at what lay beneath the obfuscation of his cloak.

Tactile observations that quite frankly mattered little for the two wizards who had remained behind, their eyes colder than steel and faces clad in smiles that did not match. All of the forgettable supporting cast members and extras had left the stage, and at long last, the true act could begin. Their grave enmity demanded unspeakable violence, a marvelous drama of blood and madness to put all macabre festivals before it to shame.

* * *

The Wheel of Fate is turning...

* * *

Production Notes:

Wow. This baby fermented a lot longer than expected, then again, I was having a case of writer's block for the past two weeks, trying to get into the groove of things. I personally feel the quality has suffered some, but it's a fairly serviceable product nevertheless. Y'all cannot imagine how hard it is to write two snarky Inglorious Basterds on screen simultaneously, and introduce a whole bunch of antagonists on stage at the same time, plus the reactions, pacing, yada yada, etc.

It's a lot of work, especially when it's your obligation to keep things savvy and black. Sure, this baby might be a usual meal, shy of 7,000-ish words, but I managed to move a ton of developments here. I'm not telling everything, but there is a heckuva lot of hinting and showing of here and now, and things to come.

...although I confess I did get sidetracked playing BlazBlue: Continuum Shift's story mode and learning the basic in's and out's of the entire cast to improve my practical and theoretical kung fu. Nya ha ha ha ha.

That said, freshly inspire, I promise there'll be less bombshells in the coming episode, which should be straight shounen action drama that I hope to impress you all with at the very least. My thanks to y'all who tuned in at the last gig, and the motivators who reviewed as always. Without y'all, there'd be no reason to keep this show going, now that we're finally beginning to hit my good stride. I guarantee, you're gonna be blown away when we get to Kyoto, and the School Festival will set the bar even higher. As the Dark Evangel arc draws to its close, all of this is but a taste of the roaring entertainment to come.

Hnnn... Any terms that need clarifying? Hnn... Not to the best of my knowledge. References? Don't think so. Characters? Well, that'd just be spoiling; at least, give it a shot before you come asking me for hints.

Well, I hope this appetizer was worth the wait. Later y'all, and I hope my next release will finally get us all back on schedule. I swear I'm still suffering from the double-issue episode from last month.

Peace.


	22. Chapter 22

Great fireballs of explosions bloomed across the sky. The flaming scenery of the waterfront was nearly spent, with only cooling plumes of smoke left as a reminder of the once spectacular sight. Nevertheless, the cheerful war marched onward to its merry drumbeat, trails of tinkling stardust looping through the night to the company of blades and sorcery.

Two wizards stood opposite of each other upon the abused Mahora Bay Bridge, the site of an earlier duel on the verge of another encore performance.

"I reckon, it is just the two of us now," huffed the black one. Enough holding back; it was high time to reveal his true colors.

The white one gave a casual flick of his wrist, as he riposted in turn, "Indeed, and though I loathe to say it, I confess, you deserve praise for enduring this long."

"You? Praise me?"

A splash of golden butterflies preempted the ostentatious knife appeared in his waiting white gloved hand, all silvery and gold, more ceremonial than murderous, dangling a curious chain from its pommel that slithered back into the sleeve of his jacket. Only a fool, however, would believe that it could not kill.

"Many lesser filth would have broken ranks already, flying into an uncontrollable rage, but it is obvious, your hide is tempered of sterner stuff. I am embarrassed that some impetuous back biting from one of your infantile pupils received more of a reaction than my artfully constructed hooks."

Though he was about to commit cold-blooded to the letter, ever the academic, the symbolism was not lost to Doctor N. Springfield. He fancied it, really, for the irony would provide him succor and closure, when all was said and done.

"Hmph. Ghandi said, '_An eye for an eye makes the world go blind_.' If I were a peace-loving, yellow bellied nuisance, I might have subscribed to such wishful drivel. _Ku ku ku ku_."

"Oh? _Shishishi_, then I wonder," quipped Monsieur N. Silverberg, "if we can agree that this gentleman had the right idea, '_He, who loves peace, prepares for the next war_.'"

The two princes raised a playful quirk of their lips in eerie mirror images of the other. The longer they stood, spoke, and observed, the more difficult it became to distinguish the difference in color. Black and white were mixing, becoming one and the same. The irregularity of two such "perfect" existences could not possibly be forgiven by the harmony of order: indeed, one must fall, and one shall stand.

"My thoughts exactly, and you cannot imagine how much it pains me to know that we can see eye to eye, **shadow**."

"Funny you would bring it to my attention, **fake**. You see, for the longest time now, something in my blood; this exquisite, excruciating sensation; it was as if it had telling me TO OBLITERATE YOU!"

"Ho, stealing my lines already, are we? As expected of a wretched **no**~_body_...! _Fu fu fu fu_, but be grateful, starting now, I will lavish you in all of my ardent hatred, AND END YOU!"

The Wheel of Fate is turning.

"'_Now, you have done it_. _Let's see if you have the strength to realize those words, you shitty __**imitation**_!'"

Are you ready for the rebellion?

"'**ACTION**.'"

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 21:

Blood Pain ~ BLACK meets WHITE

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

Twin streaks of crackling electric color, black and white, dashed and bounced to and fro throughout the lengthy concourse, clashing violently to a quickening tempo of melodic steel against steel. Each resonant blow took a part of the Mahora Bay Bridge with it, rending a strut there and shearing off a cable here, as if some manner of sickling wind was ravaging the ingenuity of man that withstood the test of time, only to fall this ominous eve at the selfish hands of blood-sworn enemies. The suspension bridge moaned and shrieked pitifully under the relentless, jawdropping assault that seemed to escape human comprehension; the zigzagging projectiles seared their color into the senses of all who dared to observe their deadly whirlwind dance.

Indeed, the physical distance between them was but a trifle to the two polar opposites drawn together by the fatal attractive force of their hatred.

_KU_~**RASH**!

Dropping out of the lightning-paced melee, the black streak subsided into a slick perfume of unearthly smoke swirling about the now visible silhouette of a "man".

"Deehh!" snarled The Doctor, digging molten red furrows of asphalt in his wake, as he skidded backwards, bleeding velocity. "...Iron Cartridges - LOAD."

Far from leisurely taking his sweet time, the magister kicked out his heel forcefully, triggering a backspin to pirouette around a pursuing sliver of glimmering arcane steel. The ornate knife whipped past his cheek by a narrow hairbreadth, trailing a keening chain of gold, just as its triumphant owner made his own deceleration into "normal" space.

"My word~! Did I miss by a league or wot, eh?" giggled The Advocate fiendishly, a smile alight on his handsome complexion that would do a devil proud.

A harsh bang, like the crack of cannon fire was Doctor N. Springfield's riposte, letting loose a brief flash of flame that stretched out a good feet before the sterling silver revolver. One after another, he cycled the cylinder in rapid succession, fighting the fantastic recoil that pushed him ever further backwards. Even a grown man would have seethed and shuddered at the vicious feedback from the magnum cartridges, shooting through his arms, but the boy magister did not wince in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to be riding the propellant backward on purpose, all the while delivering surprisingly accurate fire.

Though ephemeral, each bullet burned a line of red magnesium through the air, before slamming against a wall of shimmering blue drawn from many zigzagging lines, similar to a circuit. The loud buffeting impacts sent rippling tremors across that magical plane, conjured by Silverberg with no more than a contemptuous check of his knuckle clenched fist.

"Hyaa~hahhahahaha! Wot, are you so desperate to resort to spitting mundane bullets al-"

In his much obliged hollering, however, the white clad wizard seemed to forget a minor detail that his protective spell did not render him totally immune to the laws of physics. As a matter of fact, Springfield had just accomplished two key moves: 1. Kill his opponent's forward momentum to a dead hang. 2. Widen the distance between them to increase the time required for a retaliation (assuming the latter had no spatial bending attack techniques to speak of, or even faster projectile attacks).

"Tungsten Cartridges - LOAD."

Swathed in gunsmoke, and still skidding for that matter to an audible grinding squeal, The Doctor completed another speed reload, dumping the spent casing to be swallowed by a waiting glob of darkness that disappeared as suddenly as it appeared. His sterling revolver, then, seemed to neigh with electric whinny, its internal cylinder spinning up a flare of crackling sparks.

"Oh dear," Silverberg gulped, continuing to glide along, despite his imminent peril. "This might hurt, won't it? _Shishishishi_!"

The whinny turned into a great keening noise worthy of a jet engine within seconds, as various arcane letters and runes in blue began to materialize spontaneously. More fantastic still, the ghostly translucent panels formed alongside the silver revolver's barrel, appearing to lengthen it. Blazing electricity danced back and forth between the panels to an exponentially rising crescendo that threatened to overpower the senses, but not to The Doctor. In fact, if an observer cared to pay attention to the details, his lips could be seen murmuring something at jaw dropping blur: calculations.

"Accelerator Charge - Primed. Final firing data - Received. FULL THROTTLE!"

Wreathed in an electric blue nimbus, the rapport of his sterling revolver had made itself known once before, but the noise it made now was more akin to a great tear; a searing rip in the air, drawn out seemingly into the infinite. Great streaks of scintillating white fulgurated through the air, reminding the romantic observer of Mighty Zeus hurling thunderbolts at those who had earned his ire. Short of teleporting, Silverberg did not stand a chance in hell of avoiding the attack, so he scurried back beneath the battlements of his personal fortress and crossed his fingers.

The white barrage swept him away whole within a blink of an eye, obliterating the ornamented stone tower that acted as a supporting pylon (one of four) in a catastrophic shower of dust and debris. The entire length of the Mahora Bay Bridge shook and screeched, suspension cable stretching to compensate for the sudden unwanted redistribution in load. Verily, the whole structure had become quite unstable, and would require a substantial overhaul, as a result of the explosive demolition.

But none of it mattered to The Doctor; he was concerned with only one detail: the probable termination of Mister Negi T. Silverberg. A few breaths later, to his extreme disappointment, he espied a familiar blue-hued sphere emerging from the dispersing maelstrom. The enemy still lived and he glided back to the embrace of earth with such aplomb that even his aggravated sinus failed to ruin the majesty of the event.

"Agh, HAA-CHOO! Oh, excuse me terribly, but," Silverberg inhaled, "how barbaric and dastardly! Haa~CHOO! _Ugh_, I expected no less from the lout who tarnishes me by JUST existing!"

Give me a break, thought Doctor N. Springfield miserably. A full salvo of harmonically tuned railgun bolts did not work? That level of attack would have been plenty to slaughter a company of main battle tanks easy from five kilometers away! More importantly, I am sure I calculated the input for the arcanoelectromagnetic phase-space frequency, correctly. ...If that barrier blastia was based on one of our designs, then the algorithm I possess - should function without fail! _Che_. It can only mean that not only is the blastia formula different, they have also produced a brand new phase algorithm to reproduce the [Fortress Barrier] effect, and its superior to our own?

"Now, I think, it is my turn," The Advocate snapped his fingers, and at his beckoning, a swarm of golden butterflies came to be, depositing a regal gnarled quarterstaff in his waiting hand. Its head sported something of a modified shepherd's crook, and an assortment of clothed wrapped around its neck and middle. There was little explanation required of the staff's true purpose, to say the least.

Terrific. He possess a right and proper wizard's staff.

"I invoke the contract: come forth, O High Spirit of Light..." Silverberg canted, a golden halo reverberating into existence above him, streaming rays of light, akin to the sun that seemed to suffuse his person in some holy benediction.

A High Spirit of Light? Bloody hell...I cannot accept it, but do I have no choice but to partake in the harsh truth? That technology... That sorcery... Those _Illuminati _traitors are supposed to be at least a century behind us! How can this be?

"[**Sword Summoner – A Pack of Hunting Blades**]!"

With a shattered that reminded The Doctor of breaking porcelain, as promised, a pack of angelic daggers snapped into being en masse around The Advocate. They were little more than arcane lines of geometry in scintillating prismatic colors, lacking any apparent mass or steel to speak of, but the boy in black knew better. Those "feathers of light" could silence a grown man in a mundane set of full Gothic plate armor for good, as easily as a hot knife through butter, leaving a perfectly cauterized line for a future autopsy.

"Keh!" but enough idle thinking, and though he lacked a foci, on his pride as a jewel sorcerer, The Doctor refused to retreat even one step, without making his enemy pay for the insult in blood and sweat. "Obsidian Cartridges - LOAD."

"Return it to me, MY NAME, you pallid shadow of me! ...Or don't bother, _shishishi_, because I'll just tear it from you anyway!"

The arcane blades of light revolved into attack formation, with a gratifying clamor of drawn steel in precise lock step choreography, ready to strike at their master's behest.

"Whatever you just spouted sounds to me like a whole lot of hogwash that a rat shat in and a cow vomited out, I reckon. So to be unabashedly frank: I DON'T GIVE A DAMN. [**Gather Spirits of Darkness; Magic Archer, Consecutive Burst - Eight Arrows of Darkness**]!"

Again, a jet of dragon's breath roared forth from that sterling silver revolver, heralding the next whistling act of The Doctor's indignation to the fold.

"SCATTER!" faster still, The Advocate ordered his counterattack with a vain flourish of his free hand.

The first keening attack wave tore forward effortlessly, not the slightest bit hindered by gravity or anything of the sort, to meet the airborne shell halfway before the magically primed focus unloaded its precious cargo. Sorcerous bolts of dark smoldering "flame" spilled forth to meet the oncoming onslaught in a superb clash of splintering explosions and flash that denied the other's existence in mutually assured annihilation. Springfield, however, was far from idle, hoping to utilize the conveniently risen smokescreen, laced with radioactive emissions both arcane and mundane, he pressed onward, covering his advance with more counter fire.

"[**REPLAY**]!"

The ghostly doppelgangers of The Doctor made their otherworldly presence known once more, leaping, diving, rolling, and then some in savvy grandstanding style. It would not be like the boy magister otherwise, if he did not opt in for a little stylish showmanship. Besides, it was not as if they needed deadly accurate aim. All firing data and guidance had already been decided by Negi Springfield, and his arrows of darkness, though sluggish in comparison to the arcane blades of light, need only close enough with the enemy to swallow them whole in a proximity detonation.

Wreathed in flash and fire from whence he came, the magister darted into the thickening gloom, putting his trust in the theory that Silverberg's ability to observe him would be hampered. The wizard in white would have to rely on more automated targeting methods, robbing the blades of their superior maneuverability. Bereft of the added weight and protection from his own duster, The Doctor calculated, he should have enough of velocity to cross the remaining dead ground unscathed.

Long-range attacks are no good, thought the boy magister clinically. Too much set up time, too much transition time, easy to intercept, and I do not have a clue how much integrity he has left on his barrier gauge. Silverberg's personal [Veil] should be easier to breakthrough in comparison; that's right, wear him down, persistence, and at the critical moment, gut him like the scum he is!

The keening noise of the arcane blades sheared the air behind him, a definite sign of Silverberg's ire, churning the thick smoke into a frenzied hornet's nest. He was almost out, holding his breath the entire time he ran, and putting the acrid sizzle that tore at his eyes and nostrils on the furthest backburner seat he could find. There were more important things to worry about than the inconvenience of having his eyes and nose irritated.

What in another step, he was already beyond the veil of smoke and fire, only to encounter his overeager executioner and a whole "firing squad".

"Spring~field, how nice of you to join us for your execution!"

Right where The Doctor wanted him, too; in a swift sleight of hand, before the order to fire could be given, he procured a nondescript cylindrical device from its pouch and thumbed the activation key.

"D-iiiiiiii-eeeee...!"

A crackling shockwave of vermillion-hued lightning exploded outward from The Doctor's person, time slowed, and Silverberg's condemnation stretched into the infinite.

"Phase Screwdriver: quantum displacement field, deployed. Now, begin the operation!"

However, the bubble of respite would not last long, and he needed every second to count. Pulling his gloved hands away from the device, as if he were unfurling a scroll, it seemingly disintegrating into a mighty blue array of arcane runes and streaming lines bloomed into existence, arranging themselves before in the manner befitting a workbench.

"Schematics. Materials. Process. Modify."

It was an fantastic sight, watching The Doctor's hands fly with feverish intensity, the mad conductor in a symphony of sparks and heavy industry. Ratcheting, clamping, screwing, riveting, soldering, sanding, and more; he performed all manner of functions that might have been expected of an assembly line in a multi-million dollar manufacturing facility on the spot, by himself, and utilizing no more than a handful of tools from his person. Guided by the wealth of his experience, he ushered in the marriage of sword and gun once more, weapons that changed the world, who have been brought together this night for the highest honor that could be offered: the destruction of his enemies.

FINISH.

"Ladies and Rogues, behold!" the Black Prince cried out in gleeful catharsis, as the collective breath of the world was released. He pirouetted forward effortlessly in a whirlwind of flashing silver, as if a dancer bonded to his delightful partner at long last, cutting down all comers, who dared to rain on his parade. "The Type-Thirteen-Gamma, '_Gunslinger Pattern_', GUNxSWORD!"

Disintegrating fragments of shattered arcane blades broke upon the asphalt, as if they were made of glass, and there, the gallant figure of The Doctor stood. Brandishing his sterling revolver, the noble weapon had been transformed into a marvelous shape most appropriate that espoused its owner's eclectic character, and his resolve to win this duel forced upon by fate. Indeed, even Negi T. Silverberg gave a moment's pause, a look of concerned consternation crossing his handsome complexion, as his defeated blades burned away into embers of gold.

"My goodness, that was fast. _Shishishi_. I can hardly believe my eyes. Flowing like quicksilver. Hee he he he."

Negi Springfield tensed, studying his foe carefully, one last time. Worse comes to worse, I might be able to neutralize the space-time shift using a barrier burst at close range. I will be exposed against more massive attacks for a time, without my barrier, but I should able to short out his barrier temporarily as well.

"But, oh... Oh... OH, a duel of swords, is it?" harangued The Advocate, his eyes bright once more with a sudden surge of confidence. "Good, good, good, jolly good! I like it. How excit~ing; you have no idea how long I have been waiting for this, Ii~_shishishishishi_!"

What a strange, creepy bastard, bemoaned Doctor N. Springfield, but he could not turn back now. He was committed, and the other had already dismissed his wizard's staff, a maddening grin playing on his lips.

"So, come on~, Spring~field. GIMMIE Y'ER BEST SHOT!"

Silverberg flared his arms wide, as if welcoming his enemy into an embrace. Even a half-wit spectator drunk to the gallows could tell he had let his guard down; there could not be any better opportunity than now to strike him down for good, in one lightning action. Springfield knew better. It was a trap, and damnably, he could not refuse such an asinine invitation, because of his bloody pride.

"Bastard, I will force you to take me on seriously...!"

Flying into a piercing cold rage, The Doctor flowed forwards like a crashing tidal, his outstretched fist aflame in smoldering darkness that spanned the distance between him and his conceited enemy in a breathless instant. Thought swift he was, The Advocate was quicker still, shifting in an blur of movement to make a gunslinger proud, the seemingly innocent silver sash around his waist uncoiled, serpentine-like, and stiffened with an electric jolt of mana into a wicked dao.

"[**DANKUUKEN**]...heh, just kidding!"

The backsword, offset with a number punched out rings to reduce weight apparently so, resonated to an unusual high-pitched frequency that reminded the academic quarter of Springfield's intellect of singing. His practical concerns, however, were preoccupied by the sudden sorcerous vacuum Silverberg had created by no more than contemptuous slash of his fanciful sword, inlaid with priceless gold work. No, vacuum was a misnomer, a miniature black hole described the region of violent "dead space" more appropriately, as it drew him in, and held him faster than a viscous glue, absorbing the full brunt of his first strike hungrily.

"Stop re-sisting, idiot...!" The Doctor snarled against the buffeting air that shrieked past his ears, sending his clothes and hair aflutter. "I promise, I will slice you into the finest cut of fillet mignon!"

Thankfully, the gravity well was but temporary, releasing him a moment later with an unpleasant shock of electric feedback that threw him back. Refusing to be denied, the boy magister gave a valiant rebel yell and lashed out. The desperate slash of his gunsword, alas, never came close to touching the white wizard, whom ineffably leaned back, as if yawning, and pivoted away into his own riposte.

"Oh dear, oh my; how dangerous. But watch your feet now~, _shishishi_!"

By his intent, the wicked dao lost its rigidness in another crackle of magic, turning lithe and flexible. Possessed then, as if by a serpent, it lashed out and coiled tightly around The Doctor's shin, pulling his stumbling feet out from underneath him.

"Wha-"

The look of shock on his ashen face was priceless, the sight of which sparked a disturbing flush of mad glee on The Advocate's countenance. Motivated as such, he could hardly contain himself from wanting to see more, and snap his fingers he did to make it so.

"Feel like dying yet?" cooed Silverberg.

An arcane array traced itself into the asphalt beneath the magister in black before he could even touch terra firma. Thusly, Springfield was blasted several stories skyward in an explosive geyser of pure arcane force, weaponized to tear at his entire body. A less prepared sorcerer wizard would have suffered dearly, a fault noted by his foe, upon seeing the faint blue shimmer of a protective [Veil], saving him from bodily harm. It was a shortcoming that The Advocate would correct, gladly. Sheathing his arcane memory-shape alloy sword, that is to say he returned it back to its more innocuous state around his waist, in a stylish pirouette, he turned and loosed a flash of silver from his sleeves.

"Guwagh!" choked The Doctor, seething as he felt something most unpleasant bite into his middle. Something had pierced the protection of his [Veil]. A quick cursory glance revealed to his horror, a familiar chain of gold attached to an unrecognizable set of serpentine jaws that held him fast.

He was almost not surprised, when Silverberg appeared next in mid-air alongside him, guided by the chained serpent, like some ascension hook. What a shame, it was too much to hope for that he dropped by for some tea, as a pair of ornate silvery knives, bearing his arrogance, appeared within his waiting gloved hands. The wickedness in his smile spoke plainly of his intentions, leaving little room for wishful.

"Iyahahahahahahahaha! Slice-yslice-yslice-yslice-yslice-yslice-y, AND~ [**HIRENTOTSU**]!"

Winded, and still at the mercy of the monstrous forces that had launched him skyward in the first place, there was little Doctor N. Springfield could do to defend himself. His personal [Veil] weathered the barbaric flurry as best as it could, only to be overwhelmed in good time. A dozen ignominious shallow cuts, lacerations meant to annoy and humiliate rather than kill outright, opened up across his chest and arms in a flash. It was testament to Silverberg's marvelous skill, and his overwhelming sadism. The acrobatic aerial axe kick to the solar plexus, charged with a dose of holy light that splashed into a concussive shower of feathers on contact was just extra salt to on his foe's wounds.

Springfield hit the concourse **hard**. The sickly wrench of impact, actually generated a splintered crater, with his body imprinted into the asphalt, spread eagled.

"Guuwaah...!" and lo, did The Doctor taste blood upon lips.

Silverberg descended a moment later, landing small distance away with an absurdly light tap of his feet. Common conceptions of height and controlled falls were no concern to a wizard of his caliber. In fact, his haughty intellect was much more with the present well-being of his fallen opponent.

"Wot, are you done already?" the White Prince clucked, a frown creasing his handsome face with worry, as he slinked over. "Then, I suppose-"

Unlike the Black Prince's earlier dismay, he was pleasantly surprised to discover his enemy kip up and dive forwards into a roll that brought him right up within hand's reach of himself. How uncommonly bold of Springfield to walk himself right under the executioner's axe! What. An. I~DI-

"My turn," spoke the bloodied boy magister mirthlessly, his black gloved hand arresting Silverberg's mouth in an iron vice grip.

The latter had little time to believe the ignominy of the situation, before his entire person became many a degree too hot, swallowed whole in black smoldering flame.

"UWEH!" opening his mouth to speak, however, provided only another orifice for the vicious, burning darkness to attack, much to The Advocate's painful shock. "Owowowowow...! Mah...ton-gue. B, b, bur~ns, it bur~rns-!"

Smaller men would have pointed and laughed at the iron of this macabre spectacle, but The Doctor was leagues beyond such lowly examples of man. In fact, he would demonstrate the proper way of dealing with one's enemy, while the foeman suffered from a case of immolation, right here, right now.

"Naffin'..." the magister in black breathed, as he drew back and spun on his pivot foot. "DUMBASS!"

The castigating hellside crescent kick caught Silverberg square beneath his chin, with a wicked slap. The gut wrenching impact threw his head back, and flung the entire length of his burning body airborne in a graceful parabolic arc. Most men would have called it a day and job well done there, but Doctor N. Springfield was just getting started.

"Oofff...!"

Ignoring the pained wheeze of his hated enemy, he darted after Silverberg's helpless form in a supernatural burst of speed, his free hand clenched into a fist that ignited once more in smoldering flames of darkness.

"**Devil's**..."

The black flames were dissipating, but the magister would see that imperfection corrected, absolutely. Hopping into the air, he twisted his body about to deliver a tremendous hook to the lower body that popped the burning boy right out of the air.

"Gack!" gasped The Advocate, but his troubles were far from over, forecasts indicated the heat index in hell just went up.

Springfield had hit him with such terrific violence that he not only caught fire again, thanks to the sorcerous enchantment, but he also rebounded off the asphalt, right back into the vengeful wizard's follow-up back spinning kick.

"...**Roulette**!"

To make matters worse, a blade of smoldering black flame extended outwards from that kick, increasing its potency exponentially, as the White Prince found himself lit on fire again for the umpteenth time in less than a minute. The extra attack cut into him, slashing and burning, in spite of its inherent nature, while the kick itself scored another concussive hit to the side of his face!

"Gyah-bo?...!" he blubbered unintelligibly.

Oh, the sweet humiliation, but still - Doctor N. Springfield was not satisfied! He was not close to finished; his patient, after all, clearly possessed a most malignant, acute affliction of megalomania that could be cure with anything short of - "TOUGH LOVE". The Advocate demanded, begged to be loved like some domesticated strain of house pet that would just die without attention. Never mind the really, he was evidently concussed and flailing around like a wild animal, due to having been lit on fire.

The Negi in black was happy to oblige his patient, with interest.

"GET UP."

Snapping his fingers, an arcane rune in searing red etched itself into the asphalt beneath the Negi in white, much like how the latter had done to the former a scant few minutes ago. This time around tendrils of pure malevolent darkness sprouted on the spout, entangling its helpless smoking victim within seconds. Silverberg's screams went unheard, as he was bound, gagged, and hoisted upwards, like some criminal sentenced to crucifixion.

"It's not over yet!"

Mercilessly, another one of The Doctor's aflame punches crashed into his gut, tearing him free from one agony only to begin the next, as The Advocate stumbled back, robbed of both his breath and senses.

"Kuh! ...g, waa~rghrgh...!"

And then, things got interesting, with a thunderclap.

"Haaaaaa!" roared the Black Prince, his silvery gunsword held at the ready, resonating with a primal iridescent fury. "...I'LL BLAST YOU TO SMITHEREENS!"

The flames ravaging the White Prince, too, crackled to an unexpected color of azure, matching the cool blade of vengeance, and to Silverberg's audible protest, they burned even hotter, absurdly so. All of which were inconsequential details to Negi Springfield, as every cell and tissue in his body strained under the supernatural stresses he had subjected himself to on purpose, each step a Herculean task despite the infinitesimally short distance. The mana burst, like pumping nitrous oxide into an combustion engine, gave him the edge he needed so desperately, but at a cost to himself.

He had to hurry and end this farcical madness, now!

"**BLAST**..."

The impact did not even register to The Doctor's heightened senses. It was that plain to see his crackling azure blade override The Advocate's sorcerous defenses and sunder aside meat and bone. His lauded protection rivaling that of an entire fortress had amounted to nothing, at this critical juncture, against the barely tamed, awesome power within the tingling grasp of his foe.

"Yo~WHE-heeeehhh?" honest, unabashed shock registered on Negi T. Silverberg's face for the first time, as if he had opened his eyes finally and seen the truth of his grave circumstances.

Unbelievably, he had been run through from front to back by an enchanted arcane blade, but the best was yet to come. The conceited wizard in white, still, did not realize the full portent of what the magister in black had done. The azure flames resonated with the azure blade, and in that instant, together, they began to quantize, the harmony of two, entangled forever, beating with one heart, one soul, one purpose. Brighter and brighter they burned into a blazing blue that drew in all air, all earth, all fire, and all wind to fan the flames ever higher.

"…_**ACCELERATION**_!"

_Click_.

It happened instantaneously. One second there was the recently abused Mahora Bay Bridge where a beacon of azure had sequestered itself, containing Negi Springfield and Negi T. Silverberg, locked in a life and death struggle to the finish. Then, they were no more, the bridge was no more, gone, devoured whole in a blaze of blue that rose higher and higher into a stupendous firestorm that flash boiled the waters of the Mahora Bay and flung flaming debris far and wide, like the Day of Wrath cometh. It would be no embellishment to say that new a dawn had snuck up on Mahora Academy City out of the blue.

The only hint remaining that there was ever a bridge in the first place were the molten puddles peeking above the boiling waterline that marked the savaged tops of the pylon foundations for the Mahora Bay Bridge's towers, all else had been dashed utterly so. The area was heavily saturated in smoke, embers, and visible motes of exhausted mana that glided about like snowflakes, as sporadic discharges of lightning struck out from the charged electric of the ballooning "mushroom cloud". By all stretches of common sense, no one could have survived being right there in the middle of ground zero when the event happened.

Imagine a certain eclectic individual's lack thereof surprise, when he woke from the realm of concussed unconsciousness to the witch's walking hour.

"Agh... Dammit," hissed Negi Springfield, feeling every ache and sting so written on his seething sooty face, "I think, _bah_, I screwed up the mix-ture concen-tration, and held on, too long. Blegh..."

The Doctor was alive, apparently so, not that he had any other empirical evidence to suggest on the contrary that his hypothesis was incorrect. Thus, on the theory he was quite alive and in pain, he opened his eyes, blinking out the fuzzy dots a bit, as he strained about to reorient himself.

"More importantly," the boy magister groaned, standing up to his feet despite the forlorn protests of his battered sooty body that could use a nice long soak in a hot bath, "where the bloody 'ell am I?"

Here was most definitely Mahora Academy City, right in the heart of its bay, in fact, some distance away from the remains of the former Mahora Bay Bridge. ...To see his own weary face reflected in waters dark was rather - surprising, but being a wizard, Negi took it all in stride. The fact, he was not in the water, instead poised above it on an invisible plane, however, did not bode well for his immediate welfare from this point onward.

"Oh, bollocks."

A lilting chime rang out, priceless and clear that ushered a frenzy of activity, as streaming lines aglow with prismatic energies, like circuits, appeared at his feet. They stretched back over yonder to meet the crisp staccato steps of a familiar figure in white, laughing. It was Negi T. Silverberg in all of his glory, a little shaken up and scorched, but otherwise, insufferably ineffable.

"HYAA~hahahahhaaha! This is G~REAT! To be able to fight you like this, it's the best feeling ever, isn't that right, Negi. _Spring_~field?"

The Doctor tensed on reflex. He could not believe his eyes, but the squealing pinch of leather from his white knuckled grip on the handle of his gunsword, somehow having miraculously come out none the worse for wear too, made for a solemn confirmation of reality.

"Rrrghh, for an imitation, you are damned persistent, Negi T. _Sil_ver**berg**! Just like a stain of grease that won't go away no matter how many times I scrub it."

The Advocate continued to press in with his smug swagger, shortening the distance between them ever so dangerously. He was unafraid of any challenge, and his aura espoused an unbearable self-assurance of his own superiority.

"_Shishishi_! Oh, you wound me so, but, really now, allow me a candid moment here, would you? ...GOOD GOD, man, my favorite tuxedo's been ruined! Do you have any idea how many World Dollars it cost..."

Then again, what reason did he have to fear me anymore? thought the Black Prince, bitterly, his cheeks taut in a barely contained snarl. I do not understand it... I do not understand it all, even after everything...! Why? Why is he still standing before me? Is it a secondary "Veil" or...

"...Hey~, are you paying attention?" drawled Silverberg with a condescending sniff. "Tsk. Ah~AH! I expected as much of a lead-brained _mongrel_. Of course, you were not paying atten-"

The roaring rapport of a gun came as a surprise to the shooter himself. No more than a vain whim in his subconscious, the las thing The Doctor expected was for his body to act out his frustration, drawing fast and shooting faster still in the same near-superhuman motion. Hell, Negi Springfield did not ever recall reloading his sterling gunsword, but the result plunged him deeper into the quagmire of incomprehension.

"Out of phase?" he despaired aloud unconsciously, his complexion gone white as a sheet.

There was an "Advocate" standing with a smoking hole in his forehead a short distance away from him all right. Any proper corpse would have collapsed into an unseemly heap, like a doll cut from its strings, assuming its original inhabitant required a brain to live in the first place. What stood there, however, was no corpse, but an "Image" of Negi T. Silverberg, the broken silhouette sported a jagged hole on its forehead, appropriate to the shattering intent of the enchanted bullet that had passed through that space earlier. It stood perfectly still, locked forever in its last pose of Silverberg, cocking a hand to his hip, when the trauma occurred.

Now, the "Image" was revealed for it was, a puppet, a distant "transmission" of a mage who never once set foot in this plane of existence to do battle with his enemy. Its "illusion" shattered, the silhouette began to degrade, crackling as it fizzled out into white noise, before fading away, like a cruel joke. It left The Doctor behind, devastated beyond words.

"S, s, Since when-GAHK!"

He stumbled forward, the breath driven from his body. An icy chill ran up his spine, palms tingling uncontrollably, but nevertheless, Negi Springfield held onto his gunsword, desperately, ignoring the beads of crimson dripping down from a dozen glimmering prismatic lines that had punctured through from back to chest. They were thin and precise, like ornate stilettos, but had failed to kill in their present placement.

The healing and regenerative runes etched into his blastia would ensure that something of this level could not possibly end their master. Already they had stabilized his earlier lacerations, but if the intent was to cause death by a thousand cuts, bleed him dry, slowly yet surely...

"Hyaa~hahahhaah!" crowed his tormentor, the treacherous White Prince debuting at last through a sudden crackling distortion in the fabric of space-time. "Did you just notice? _Iii_~_shishishishi_! You, just, did, didn't you? Hyaa~hahahaha! That's it. That's it! That expression. It's the best! _Shishishishi_."

The Doctor groaned, a feverish sweat building on his frowning brow. It made perfect sense now why the bastard had destroyed his A.R. glasses early on in their encounter, so he could spring this meanest of plot twists. "Da, dam-mit. How...care-less. Heh. That's not like me...at all."

"I confess, Springfield, I should have told you from the start, _hu hu hu_, but you never stood a snowball's chance in HELL of beating me in the first place! Kill me? End me? Ha, do not make me laugh anymore, please! I am afraid my constitution could not bear~ with it. HYAA~HAHAHAHAHA!"

CHECK.

It was obvious, even to The Doctor that he was but a handful of moves away from defeat. His options were severely limited. Of course, he possessed some recovery items on his person, but tonight's battles had taken their toll on him. The well of his strength was nearly empty. True, there was THAT methodol-

"Guwah!" gasped the boy magister, thoughts interrupted, as blood filled his mouth.

A blade that had pierced his lung between the fourth and fifth rib had withdrawn itself, violently, sending him stumbling about in a swooning haze. The world was spinning.

"_Oraoraora_! Dance, Springfield. Dance! The real festival of blood is just beginning. The crowd that rotten frothing mob of cretins is not anywhere close to satisfied. More. MORE! They want to see more of your fetid blood! HYAA~HAHAHAHA!"

"Kuh! So, bloody, hgh, LOUD. You. Sonuva-BITCH! Wipe that sick smile from your face, you white-faced creep," he choked on another jolt of pain, this time from his stomach, just above the ridge of his right pelvic crest. "Hah! ...B, before I plant my FOOT into it. It gives me the willies, reminding me of some pervert, who just skinned alive a box of abandoned puppies and ENJOYED IT."

"Ho~ there, watch your mouth, **little doggie**," caroled Silverberg, gesticulating his hands to a melody privy to his own ears, like a symphonic conductor, "unless you want to earn a rose-scented bouquet of blades to your uncouth YAP, from yours truly."

With a frivolous flick of wrist, another blade withdrew, once buried between the crook of the right forearm's radius and ulna. The dribbling gout of crimson, and seething look of searing pain on Negi Springfield's face was almost too good to be true. If there was a heaven, The Advocate was convinced that this time, this moment had to be his favorite vision of paradise!

As for the poor boy, who was forced to suffer such bitter humiliation...

Sire, it might be wise to entertain the mad man, 'spoke' a darkly voice in his fast becoming delirious thoughts. Mana levels are at less than seven-percent capacity (as expected of a jewel mage, I think). Your vitals are...

Shut up, Blackie. I will do as damn well, please! The Doctor ground out. "Like hell, freaking gaudy, _gah_, psychopath. In my life's story, I am the main character. I. AM. the only one privileged enough to wax poetic! _Passe_, _ughh_,villainous megalomaniacs like you can just roll over and die, dammit!"

...he believed strongly that he could endure. Keep thinking, as long as he breathed, an opportunity would surely present itself. Just hold on and keep thinking!

"_Shishishishi_, see what I mean? Be honest here, you dung eating brat, has it not ever occurred to you that you make so. much. NOISE. Always barking, baying, spitting like that annoying dog on the corner of the street that just won't SHUT UP! IT MAKES ME WANT TO SEE. YOU. **BLEED**!"

In a sudden crescendo, all the blades tore their way out, violently, from The Doctor's tattered bleeding body at once. Before The Advocate had exhibited a graceful purpose to his actions, but now, it was only mean, brutish sadism. He had wanted to see a fountain of blood, and feel the visceral howl of agony.

"UWAAAaarrghh!"

And what The Advocated wanted, The Advocated received, always.

"Hyaa~hahahah! It hurts, doesn't it? Yes, it does! Ha ha ha ha...aaaahh, so~ much~ F~U~N~, but look at you now, you **pale **_**imitation**_. All torn up and pissing red all over the place, _ugh_, how un~sightly!"

"Not...yet," croaked The Doctor. His grit teeth, and pale complexion said all that need not be spoken of the excruciating misery he was experiencing firsthand, his once roguishly savvy form now tortured and abused, and yet, he refused to go down on his knees. "I can, still, _guaahhh_...!"

His vision was clouding over in darkness, an ill omen, as the boy magister had held onto his gunsword, leaning heavily on the untarnished blade to prop himself up. Perhaps, it was courage. Perhaps, it was just vanity. In either case, he would not bend anymore than he has already been forced to yield to his enemy!

"Iii~shishishi, what an under dog," Silverberg was enjoying the macabre show, immensely. The truly heartfelt performance exceeded his every expectation, such that he could not hold back a round of applause. "But that's our boy, he really gives it his all ri~ght to the bitter end. _Hu hu hu hu_! ...The audience just can't get enough of that right? Eh. **Black Southern Cross**!"

The world was drifting further and further away Negi Springfield, but even in his pathetic state, he did not miss the meaning of that powerful epithet.

"...Tha-t name. H, how...! Why do you-?"

His voice, alas, was so weak that it went unheard in the mad ravings of his euphoric tormentor.

"Hyaa~hahahah, it is too bad that it is all~ over! _Shishishishi_. ...No. Seriously. The curtain is falling on you, stupid brat. Just listen, see? Can you not hear it? The golden _silence_."

Ah, Silverberg was right. It had gone...quiet, had it not? He could not hear the rockets anymore. So very quiet... Where had everyone gone? Black. Black everywhere, and it was becoming so awfully chilly, too.

"Oi~, Misery," sighed a deep, ornery voice worrisomely, "if you keep stomping her like that, I think the ickle little red wench of a pup will really expire, y'know?"

Whoever that person was addressing, obviously, was not listening as he or she extracted a shrill anguished shriek.

"Y, you... Mon-sters... AH!"

It sounded wistfully familiar to Doctor N. Springfield, but - he was just so~ very tired. Sleepy. ...Who did it belong to again?

"A splendid performance, Sakurazaki Setsuna of Konoe," another voice broke through the gloom, oddly fascinated and disinterested at the same time. "Scarcely do I believe it, but your screams have been like a cooling balm to my boredom."

How strange. Who was he talking to?

"...o-jou...sama. As I, thought... I...still-! Use...less. ...Wh, what... ...sadness. For-give... ...re,gret."

That girl does not sound too good. Maybe she should go find a good spot in the grove, under the shade of a persimmon tree? If she asked nicely, he might even tell her about his favorite spot. May-be.

"Kuh, thos-e...incompetent...i-diots. I even left... The low-level...mid-bosses...to them. On pur-pose...guh. Knew it... Should've... Leveled up... More. Before I left, home. Where's, the reset button?"

Hey. The voice just now sounded a lot like his own. What in the devil was he talking about, though? Some kind of new training regimen? ...Good grief, let it not be so that The Master's hellish training has finally made him go bonkers!

And then, there he was when a white serpent appeared in the darkness, whispering venom with gentle lies.

"_Shishishi_. You sure do know how to say some amazing things, little pup. Alas, it is my judgment as The Protagonist and Director of the Stage that _that _is quite enough of your third-rate blustering... Therefore, this marks the end of the line for you...probably, _ne_, Mister Garbage-Hero-of-My-Life-Story-_san_? Real~ly, it just cannot be helped; if you have any complaints, please, file it in the appropriate suggestions box on your way out, exiting stage right. He he he he."

Negi Springfield woke, and his will to fight with him. His bloodied lips pulled back into a playful smile, belying a curious confidence that reached his sore eyes for the first time in what had felt like an eternity.

"Then...! Just try it, then. All of this worthless hissing, is putting me right to sleep...you _**snake**_."

Negi T. Silverberg gaped, as if he had been struck, a sure sign as any that something amazing had just happened. He blinked. He mussitated his lips, and when whatever did not occur as intended, he shook mightily, coloring beet red, like a rumbling volcano on the verge of eruption. The white snake tore his signature wide brimmed hat from his mane and crushed it underfoot, again and again, reminding The Doctor of a child throwing a temper tantrum.

Indeed, something special, absolutely stupendous must have transpired, and for the life of him, Doctor Springfield did not have a clue. He suspected his lack of intuition had to do with his present state of hyper sanity (read: sanity but better, WAY~ better) from his bout with sudden traumatic blood loss.

"Iii~shishishi!" Silverberg forced out another of his contemptuous cackles, but for a change, it was obvious his good humor did not reflect the terrible emotion in his eyes. "Forget trying to steal the limelight from me at the last moment, you little backbiting SHIT-face. Just-"

"So, get on with it already. ...Let's see, if a flipping cheapass imitation in a ten-pence tuxedo, can beat THE ORIGINAL. HUH? SIL~_VER_~**BERG**!"

"Rrrgghh! Do not get cocky just because you got a little word in edgewise! Enjoy your despair, and PERISH, _SPRING_~**FIELD**~!"

For all intents and purposes, it appeared he was about to be stabbed in the face and put out of his misery, courtesy of a chained snake-knife-thingie from his very hammed up enemy. Had The Doctor been in a more lucid state of mind, he might have had the heart to care, but all he wanted to do right now, was yawn. And yawn he did, the ringing blade slicing through the air with an unerring certainty to gouge him right between the eyes.

_Sching_!

The glistening silver jaws of the platinum serpent gnashed and hissed, glaring balefully with eyes of ruby, as it hovered so close, yet so very far away from his nose. For a moment, it tried to engage him in a staring contest for gallantry, only to be rebuffed by a bloodied glob of spit that said everything The Doctor had on his mind, concerning the vain subject.

The Advocate - **seethed**, as if he had electrocuted, a visible throbbing vein of ire rearing its ugly form on his temple.

"Errrghhhh! HEY, who's muscling in on my stage? HUH! " Silverberg whirled about, reeling in his ornate knife. "Can you blinkered fools not see I am having an ARTISTIC CRISIS here, damn it all?"

From Doctor N. Springfield's perspective, his patient appeared to be certifiably mad gesticulating with sharp knife hands and quaking fists, as he harangued the darkness. His observations, to his perturbed interest, proved to be premature, however. The wind blew with a shivering gust that heralded storm of golden flecks, butterflies that condensed around the steaming wizard in white. From these cocoons, two figures emerged in curious battle dress that had more in common with serving uniforms of The Sisters of Purgatory than any sort of practical military attire.

The fact, the young, vivacious maidens wore them all too well, with curves in all the right places, did not help to salvage their clothing a measure of respectability. To conclude, the tell-tale signs of bunny ears and a fluffy white tail sealed the fate of the ornate dress uniforms, with one-piece swimsuit-like bottoms, pleated half-skirts, and a thigh-high boots, as beyond a shadow of doubt: fetish fan service attire. ...Not that The Doctor minded terribly; he would love to have his own company of bunny girls right about now to soothe his ailments and put him to bed.

What a shame that The Advocate seemed to be well acquainted with these new guests, judging by the disappointed pout on his cooling face. Naturally, he made it a point to make his displeasure known to the two "bunny soldiers".

"Ah... Well, if it is not my two favorite bunnies from His Eminence, Dragon King Pendragon's chosen heavenly maidens, The Siesta Sisters Imperial Guard Corps! Salutations, Siesta45, and I see your partner in crime, Four-One-Zero, is in good health as ever. I do not recall summoning you two, so~ the question begs to be asked, just what are you doing here - _**interrupting **_me?"

...wait a minute here. Chosen heavenly maidens? Does that make them sound an awful lot like... ANGELS?

"E,e,e,e,e,e, EXCUSE US!" apologized the rose-haired one to his left in shrill stutter, her hand shooting up in a jittery salute. Even her ears seemed to follow suit in her frantic supplication, folding themselves as low as possible to show her servile remorse. "My d-d-deep,est, a-and, sin-sin-ceret apologies, Lord Silverberg!"

Her cyan-haired comrade, on the other hand, took it all in stride, as if this sort of overreaction was the norm, and shot the glowering snake an oddly informal two-finger salute. "Yo, you're a sight for sore eyes as always, Master Neji-nyeh."

"Wha-!" now, it was The Doctor's turn to be flabbergasted. "M, Master... N, N, NE~JI-guwah!...?"

Indeed, he felt like the worst sucker ever, the cursed victim of a prank so cruel and debased that his thoughts would have to be put on hold, as he felt the wounds in his tattered body flare up with debilitating pain. It seemed his mana reserves had finally hit zero, judging by the sudden enflamed onset of unadulterated agony.

Silverberg, being such the gentleman he was (certainly not), ignored his sorry plight completely. It almost seemed like his existence did not matter anymore to the belligerent party that had instigated this whole bloody mess in the first place, much to The Doctor's ire.

"Oi, oi, Siesta410, look at what you did to the poor boy over there, by just **care**_lessly _blurting out my real first name. I was trying to keep it a sur~prise~, you naughty bunny!"

"Ohmigosh!" gasped the imperial soldier(?). She managed an unusual charming girlishness by veiling her mouth with a white gloved hand, despite her obviously rough, tomboy-ish demeanor, compared to her rose haired comrade. "Like, really, really-nyeh?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes really, my smashing girl!" nodded the newly revealed Neji T. Silverberg (or was the rest of his name a lie too?) in grave seriousness. "But - Oh, my apologies, Springfield-_swan_~! Did I scare you? _Ii_-_shishishi_! Erm, was it not the funniest lie ever? ...Not that it was a complete lie, you see? _Shishishi_!"

And then, with an earth shaking thud (though it was more of a dumbstruck thump to be honest), the ingloriously savvy Doctor N. Springfield collapsed, onto his knees.

"Oi oi oi, oi, what is the matter?" crowed the unbearable cacophony that passed for a voice, belonging his sorry excuse for an enemy. "Are you having an an~neruism over there? Hey~, Sprin~g~Field-_sen~sei_! Did I, Neji T. Silverberg-kun, SURPRISE THE HELL OUT OF YOU? Hyaa~hahahaha! Take that, SUCKER."

No, it was high time that Negi Springfield, humiliated and utterly outmaneuvered, became honest with himself.

Ne_ji_ T. **Silverberg**.

Just. YOU... Just you alone I will never, ever FORGIVE, until this black-hearted grudge within me has consumed you! Damn you. Curse you. A thousand poxes upon you, MY COOL ARCHNEMESIS. GO EAT A SILVER CROSS and DIE! How dare you... How dare you make a fool out of me, you dirty sonuva, sonuva...! Arrghhh, you are not a prince; you are bloody SNAKE! Aaaaaaghhhhhhhh!

Lo and behold, Neji and Siesta410 broke out into gales of laughter, such was their uncontrollable Schadenfreude joy that they were forced to embrace each other for support. What a shame that all but on one lone individual failed to comprehend the titanic magnitude of the event she was experiencing.

"Please, Lord Silverberg!" interjected the rose-haired bunny girl, ergo Siesta45. "I beg of you, cease and desist distracting us from our mission!"

Instantly, the once laughing duo sobered up, and shot a dry look at their companion. Such was the combined incredulous intensity of the suave boy wizard and his companionable bunny girl that Siesta45's famed persecution complex all but overloaded her common faculties.

"A, a, a, UM, n, n, n, n, not that I mind, b-but o, or, orders are... H, HERE! Please, read this letter. I, Siesta45, humbly entreat you! Lord Silverberg!"

Envy. Oh, how envious he was, thought Negi, gritting his teeth. It should be him over there, and NOT HERE wallowing in total disgrace!

"Oh, fine," pouted Neji, separating himself from Siesta410 with little fuss. Clearly, he was not the type of gentleman to keep his girls waiting, after having already taken a whole a mile from them. "Let me see, let me see. Cordially, Mister Silverberg, orders-to-retrea... What THE HELL is this?"

"Kya! I'm v, v, v,v ,v v, very sowwy-" blubbered Siesta45 pathetically, the beginnings of crocodile tears tugging at her ruby-hued eyes.

At sight so heart wrenching that Neji felt a cold sweat on his brow.

"O, oi, Forty-Five...! Y, you m-misunderstand. _Shishishi_! S, see, I was just (Hey, Siesta410, help me out here)-"

"Nyeh he he he," snickered Siesta410 having already spotted where this development was going, and not shy in the slightest of taking advantage of her master's lovely predicament. "Uwhaa~, Master Neji. How _**low **_of you, making a girl cry, I see? I might~ just~ have to report you like this back to headquarters, y'know~?"

"_Sniff_! It's, it's...it's O-KAY, Lord Silverberg. I... I, Siesta45, am ashame-d, _uuu_, to admit it, but I have always known. I'm, just. A useless. Never-do-well. SEXY bunny. ONLY GOOD FOR HER _MOE _APPEAL-_usa_. _Uuuuuu_-_waaaaaahhhh_!"

And watching the dazzling love-comedy skit unfold before him, Negi was forced to admit to another fact: he and Neji shared a frightening number of commonalities. To meet another blessed with the same savvy, devil-may-care providence as his own springtime of youth... What an about face.

"Oh, mother of mercy, why, now?" bemoaned Neji, cupping a palm over his temple. "It is no use. Absolutely no use! There is no stopping Forty-Five once she gets like this! O woe is me! ...Siesta410."

"Yes~, yes~, right here, Master-nyeh!" saluted the cyan-haired bunny girl, smartly bringing her heels together in a crisp clap.

"You may remove yourself from the field, and evacuate the corporal ahead to the M.A.S.H. unit. I will stay behind a little longer to settle our affairs here."

"Wil~co, nyeh he he he!"

"Oh, and do pass me the phone before you leave, won't you, my favorite rascal?"

"Here, and enjoy~ it, Neji-sir."

In a storm, they arrived, and within the storm, they left, the Siesta Sisters leaving only an intricate ivory telephone of Victorian-esque aesthetics perched on a polished silver platter, atop a stand, for The Advocate's perusal as promised. Contrary to any common sense, the phone rang, despite not being connected to any visible landline, and Silverberg did answer its gilded beckoning ring. Naturally, he greeted the speaker with all the bombast privileged of his ego.

"GOOD EVE~NING, it is I, Neji T. Silver-gwaak! O, oi...that hurt. Now, listen here! ...phantom, you first-rate little-! ...Oh, for the love of-! Hey YOU, I am quite busy, and... What do you _**mean **_something troubling has... Oh...fine, fine, fine! I get it, I get it, you hear me? Yes. I will finish up here, and thanks for naffing not-"

Suffice to say, it was a very one-sided conversation, reminding Negi of his own similar experiences. Neji's expression upon being hung up was a disturbing match for infuriated snarl #21, the "Oh No You Le DIDN'T!" look. How disheartening it was to see that his arch-nemesis, too, fell prey to the same hierarchical power struggle common throughout the entire great chain of The World.

"Tsk, what a brain killer," clucked The Advocate, slamming the receiver down roughly. Its purpose served the mysterious telephone, too, dissipated in the same manner as the Siesta Sisters, evaporating into a shower of golden butterflies.

Now, there were only two men left, just like how everything had begun originally.

"You have the Devil's own luck. I admit, a certain sterling wisdom holds true as ever, to my boiling consternation, that it pays to have friends in high places. Would have thunk it that one of _The Eldritch Society_'s **legends**, The Wizard Marshall Zelretch, would take time out of his busy schedule to intervene here is...flattering, to say the least. Shame, his presence has become the mother of all monkey wrenches in my plans for tonight. I do believe, I am sunk, good pup, and the last laugh is on me, huh? ...How disappointing."

Two men entered; one man leaves.

"Take good care of those precious girls for me, Negi Springfield, and - well, try not to **die **until we meet again, savvy? See, you and I, it is been a long time coming for this moment, and best of all, this gibbous, fairy tale nocturne... Is just the first of many such encounters, stained in blood. _Shishishi_. Is it not just mar~velous, B-R-O-T-H-E-R? _Hu hu hu hu_. _**HYAA**_~hahahaha!"

The wind whispered, and just like that there was the frigid, watery embrace of sea, as the white snake's hissing laughter receded with the lapping waves.

**Black**.

* * *

The Wheel of Fate is turning...

* * *

Production Notes:

It's here! It's finally here! All ten-thousand words of it, and just so you all know this was technically finished on 11:59 PM, the 17th of October, therefore I managed to make it within my time hack just in time. YES. I am on a come back!

But let's not get ahead of ourselves here. I hope I managed to live up to my hype, because my god was this chapter a revolving door of pain, violence, and TROLLing to put all other incidents of Trolling prior to shame. I thought that the last one was bad, but once I set these two mad dogs loose... Yeah, I think y'all can tell I was running out of material. When you have two awfully brilliant stars next to each other, it becomes hard to tell the difference.

They are both bloody krazy, for the record.

That said. Ho boy. Oh, BOY. Did a LOT happen in this chapter, the references, the in-between the lines stuff, and by golly gee, the jargon does not help, so I am gonna define a few phrases / terms here that really jumped out at me.

"Out of Phase" - it is an expression indicating that the object or topic indicated by the speaker does not exist in the same reality state, or more specifically, it has not been "observed". Therefore, the object has not been and cannot be "interacted" with, amounting to a whole lot of "fumbling around in the darkness". This sorry state of affairs can be amended, provided that the observer has grasped the ability or circumstance to "observe" the said object; thus, it loses its extranormal qualities, and simply becomes just another "thing".

"Veil" - a type of defensive arcane barrier that literally alters the reality state of its user by enveloping the user in an unstable layer of distorted space-time. The energies of an attack are dispersed safely beyond just the state of past, present, and future, but through the entire make up of the human body, spirit, and beyond. Suffice to say, Veils provide protective solutions that is virtually unmatched throughout the Wizarding World. It is a closely guarded piece of black technology that only a handful of organizations should have access to, one of them being its discoverers themselves, _The Eldritch Society_.

"Reality State" - The grounded reality state of "1" is the world as any common layman perceives it, or the "Norm" as we ought to know it, so to speak. Deviations from this norm are possible in positive and negative permutations. The general rule of thumb goes something like this: positive reality states indicate a "world" of increasing complexity, while negative reality states indicate a "world" of increasing simplicity (although this is not always applicable). A practical application of this knowledge, for example, is that it is theorized the ghosts exist in a _r_-state of 0.5 or 1.5, with some deviation. Lacking a coporeal body, they are said to be "half-existences" that are only able to exist by the virtue of some strong "anchor", a will or purpose that keeps them bound still to this earthly coil.

I think those were the major ones. Suffice to say, Silverberg's got some seriously high performance tools, and he works with An~gels~! Oh, the irony, but it's not like y'all didn't see it coming, right? Ha ha ha.

Ho boy, I am exhausted, along with all my fighting spirit too. I assure you all we are going to hit the love-comedy dating sim moments hard after this, and it is about damn time! I have spoiled you rascals enough with this balls to the wall shounen action dorama stuff. I need my moe, snappy laughs, and bumbling heroine action back! I needz it back!

But really? Thank you all for tuning in, and mad props to the reviewers; it is my honor to have your time. This production would not be possible without you hard charging motivators. Therefore, motivate me, so I can hopefully continue motivate y'all, a'ight?

Cool.

Because I am wasted now. Nighty and night and all that jazz, and if some blows your mind, like WTF!BBQ?...? That's what the review / PM button is for... Heheheheh.

Peace.

For realz.


	23. Chapter 23

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. Beware: much Do-Ra-Ma-Ko-Me-Di ahead. I hope it was worth the wait.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 23:

A Much Belated Tea Party

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

After a long harrowing night, daybreak could not have come sooner for Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova. Even in her brief stint as an auror, had she never experienced such danger fraught with pure terror. Fact: the infamous honor went to another incident in her own bumbling childhood school years at Meldiana Academy that transformed her forever, just like the evening prior. Delusion: if she did not know any better, Anya would swear the story of her life was just a series of unfortunate life changing events after another.

Get a grip on yourself, Anastasia, the red head reminded herself, drumming her dainty fingers on the armrest of her leather chaise lounge. It's a fact you were beaten within an inch of your life by a pair of psychotic monsters, _ob_viously, but you're still alive to think about it. You don't have to trust the old - gentleman, who saved your backside, especially after hearing him state his relationship to a certain smug bastard you're trying to take down, girl. But the least you can do, is handle yourself like a proper witch, all grown up, and deal with the unseemly facts in front of you!

The afternoon rays of the sun was like a warm balm against her cheek, whispering of sweet nothings to the distant lull of waves lapping on a tawny private beach she had espied from her window. Ah, what Anastasia would give to string up a hammock by the palm trees and partake in another easy catnap to make all her furtive worries go away. How she had woken in a bed not of her own, bathed and dressed assisted by perfect strangers, eaten breakfast at a table that was definitely not the apartment she and the ineffable Professor Negi Springfield, and told to enjoy herself simply by the servants. They were beautiful, perfect creatures of all ages and color, yet so obviously artificial, sporting a familiar set of metallic antennae that ruined the illusion of their blissful humanity.

On the bright side, the white sun dress, sandals, and ribbon festooned straw hat she had been fashioned with were quite - tasteful. It was a bit criminal that they had likely acquired her measurements without her consent, not to mention the under things...b, but she could overlook it just this once. Surely, the servants only had benevolent intentions, a reflection of the magnanimity of the owner of this exquisite beachside villa. And if all else failed, well, their master (or mistress) had good taste in clothes and a healthier wallet to match.

How gracious of them to give her just about all the time in the world to stew, sulk, and gather her thoughts, under a clear blue sky, accompanied by the scattered chatter of seagulls. The cerulean sea was breath taking in its vastness, stretching far across the horizon into the infinite. It helped to put Anastasia at ease, as she tried to come to grips with recent events: the frenetic fever-pitched air battle, her subsequent defeat, and an entirely unexpected intervention by a mysterious stranger straight from some sentimental movie script.

If there was one quality the red head could be certain of she lacked, it was luck. The clear azure sky above her was not comforting in the slightest bit to Anastasia. Oh no, the magistra magi suspected it to be no more than the calm before the storm. It was always like this, just when she thought things could not get any worse, misfortune would throw another curve ball at her.

The Victorian sitting room where the participants, willing and unwilling, gathered for tea time held an unusual spice of electric excitement in the air. There, a hint of mystery behind the grey wizard lounging in his high back recliner, clothed in shadow, and over here, the taut string of dread of the young bodyguard, her sharp eyes alert, seated in a plain bistro chair that suited her well. After all, Setsuna Sakurazaki looked ready to pounce on the offending lout who basked like royalty in the muted rays, slipping through the curtains, upon his posh canapé.

Try as she might to suppress the irksome feeling, Anastasia could sympathize with her characteristically laconic co-worker.

From the shadows earlier, the magistra magi had observed the young guard run up and down the beach head, vacillating frequently between anger, surprise, despair, and resolution. Sakurazaki sought escape, simply put, having no desire to partake in the humorless group self-depreciation that Springfield undoubtedly planned to ram down all of their throats. Being the sort of uptight individual she was, and the Japanese culture of shame, Anastasia could understand her reservations; that said, it did not make it any less funny to watch the sharp-eyed girl sprint from on corner of the villa's estate to another, only to be deposited by magic right where she began.

Ah, the futility of it all! ...Of course, Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova would know, because she had already experienced the same thing first hand. Who was she to deprive her fellow prisoner the same wisdom through feverish trial and error, chasing her own tail like a dog? Tee hee hee...

Springfield would pay. Oh yes, Negi Springfield would pay. Who else could be devious enough to impose such a farce upon **his **guests?

The heady scent of black tea entered the peculiar ambience. Anastasia recognized it as one of the boy professor's favorites, though which one was it again? He usually brewed them himself, considering Springfield's opinion on her tea making capabilities to be - dreadfully abyssmal at best. That jerk; all she had to do was add hot water, milk, and some sugar, right? What, and his bloated bourgeoisie nonsense, pointing out the particulars about the art of brewing a proper cup of tea. It was not as if she was trying to prepare a Japanese tea ceremony here, was she?

Goodness, coffee was so much more convenient, and a proven staple of the working world at that, too! Why could he not - wait a second, the magistra magi frowned, is that not Chachamaru - stop, surname first; when in the land of the barbarians, make like the barbarians - Karakuri Chachamaru serving tea and biscuits to them?

Never mind the neon-haired gynoid wore a French maid outfit in a most risqué cut and a fetish worthy miniskirt that rode dangerously on the line between acceptable and scandalous. Her appearance provided rather stark contrast to the blue blood propriety observed by the rest of the staff, such that it might suggest almost a kind of back handed punishment.

"Well, _Miss _Karakuri," drawled the master of the house curtly, "while your tea lacks a certain imagination, it would not be fair to fault you for your mathematical perfection either."

Ah, Professor Negi Springfield, pure and untamed, as he lorded over his realm in little more than a plain untucked shirt, slacks, and pink fuzzy slippers.

"Please, allow me to speak," spoke Chachamaru in her customary manner, feigned apologetic interest, "it is an honor to hear you speak so unabashedly. My deepest gratitude, _Doctor _Springfield."

Most people would have refrained from joining in such precarious waters, the elder gentleman in the shadowed corner, accompanied by a fair number oddly macabre doll that peeked out with eerie red eyes, had no such reservations.

"Perhaps, the tea is plain, dear boy, but you always did know how to fashion the best company to liven the flavor. Ha ha ha ha. In the millennia I have lived, rarely have I tasted such a nostalgic air. You are a priceless master of ceremonies, Negi."

"You are selling me much too high, old man, though I admit, I seem to have the gift for these sort of occasions, do I not?"

"Last evening, I think, was certainly telling. Have you ever considered dabbling turning that talent into a practical business? It could be quite profitable, according to my estimates."

"Me? A professional Dionysus?"

"Smashing idea, girl! I can feel these old bones already warming up-"

"Old man, the last thing we need is you chatting up some young impressionable sorceresses on a whim, and stringing them along in another one of your so-called _social experiments_."

"As interesting it would be to watch, for the sake of decorum, I am inclined to agree with, Springfield-_hakase_.

"Oh, poo. I appear to be sunk. Who knew the Devil is not as black as he is painted? Ahem! ...May I have another biscuit, please?"

Suffice to say, it was plain to see that the two villains and their toady maidservant were getting along swimmingly, the sight of which made Anastasia turn blue and purple in revulsion. Something about the happy atmosphere they shared together just screamed misfortune on the verge of reaching critical mass, if some brave soul (read: IDIOT) did not break up that genial siesta, right away. Oh, by the Virgin Mary, she can see the milk in her tea curdling already!

Thankfully, there was such a fool in their midst, and she had had it with the egregious extravagances of their host.

"Enough! Springfield, you persistent pest," Setsuna spat, setting down her untouched tea cup with a vehement clatter of porcelain. "Why? Why do you toy with me, when I've made it clear I have no desire to play with you? Release me, and I'll be on my way."

Unruffled by the venomous outburst, Negi feigned injury, swooning airily as if he were on the verge of fainting.

"My word, first thing in the afternoon, and people are accusing me of being up to no good already? Heavens, _girl_, I never lifted a single finger to stop you from leaving. Did your teachers at the _Shinmei Ryuu _not teach you an ounce of customs and good manners?"

The body guard girl's sharp eyes narrowed into cold daggers.

"What're you suggesting...**sen**-_sei_? Speak, clearly, for all of our sake's, please."

"Oh, I will do more than just that; I shall state a fact, Sakurazaki Setsuna-kun: it is most impolite to blame others for your own **ineptitude **to see yourself out the door."

Inwardly, Anastasia raised a palm to cup her temple. It appeared Sakurazaki had grossly underestimated her ability to stomach the legendary Springfield blood-letting lip service. The raven-haired bedecked in her school uniform had not lasted more than ten seconds, before exploding spontaneously out of her seat, like a combusting firework shell.

"Y, y, y, YOOOOOUUUUUuuuuu-!"

All the while, the boy professor brandished that unbearable playful grin, his face radiant, the kind that would do a mischievous puck proud. It appeared he had already begun his campaign of - _ahem_! - _progressive _treatment against Setsuna for her now malicious neurosis.

"Rrrgghhh! ...sword..." the bodyguard girl huffed and puffed, clenching and unclenching her hands, like a bull kicking its hooves, ready to charge, "...Konoe Eishun-sama's _Yuunagi_...!"

"Excuse me," Negi spoke up in sing a song tone, the gallant bullfighter fluttering his red cape to goad the bull into attacking, "we are attempting to have a conversation around the table here. Can you speak up, Sakurazaki-san?"

"MY SWORD! BRING ME MY SWORD!"

"And you will do what with that pray tell, chop me up into neat, precise chunks and then mince the rest into a bloody hamburger, while Freud has a field day with your obvious penis envy? Hnnn. EN~vy~... Yes! I see how it is, now. You dry hump your sword like a LUST-y dog in heat, DO YOU NOT? NO wonder it is so BI~G and L~ONG. _OO~oooo_!"

"W, wh, wh, wh, WHAT DID YOU SAY? S, Spring-field, _KIISAM~AA~_!"

It was just like The Doctor to press the big red switch. Did he have a plan to stop the countdown to annihilation? Maybe. Maybe not. Anastasia still could not place her finger whether Springfield would enjoy watching an explosion occur to himself, at no expense to others, because he was bored, or he would only conduct such a fiery display as a _gedankenexperiment_.

But like all potentially mad men, Doctor N. Springfield's experiment went beyond simple "Y" and "X" variables. He liked to account for "Z" variables, too, which was exactly when Chachamaru Karakuri reasserted her presence, on stage, with a curious gesture, flicking off the livid flat of Setsuna's partially exposed brow. As if a switch had been flipped, the sharp-eyed girl yelped girlishly and recoiled back into her seat. She clutched at her forehead, the beginnings of big crocodile tears glistening her eyes.

Why the girl positively had the look of someone suffering from PTSD, as if the sudden shock had recalled a not so fond memory.

"HYA! ...N, n, n...! Wha, wh, what?"

"Forgive my rudeness," Chachamaru gave a slight apologetic boy. She appeared as disinterested as always, but like him, Negi did not doubt for a second she had carefully recorded and save the entire event for future perusal. "As curious it would be to observe such a situation, hypothetically speaking, it is an ill-advised action, Sakurazaki-dono. If something untoward were to happen to Springfield-_hakase_, this imaginary space might unexpectedly react in a series of unwanted consequences."

That said, for The Doctor, there was little wonder how his head maid managed to slip by unnoticed. Considering how heated the theatrics had risen to, and Chachamaru being Karakuri Chachamaru, it would be child's play for her to effect such a casual display of stealth. The old gentleman in his shadow box seat (read: corner), accompanied by the soulless gaze of the ruby eyed dolls by his side, could care less for such little details. The progression of the drama before him was all that concerned him.

"Tee hee he hehehe. Oh ho ho ho, and, I imagine, _pffttt_, it would be smashingly messy! Another sweet to take the bite off my boredom... _Hmmm_. Why don't you give it a try, Child of the East? I am sure, our dear boy, Negi Springfield, won't mind the excitement!"

Setsuna's wide doe eyes darted after him, her mouth made to speak, only for a silent voice to emerge. It was an interesting development; _most _interesting. The way her pupils dilated, the eyes wavering, before falling back down to the floor, as if the answer to some riddle could be found there. She was still lost between her jarring recollection and the shocked present. Who knew a simple gesture as a - mostly harmless flick to the forehead could be the major breakthrough needed to peer into an individual's psyche?

The Doctor smiled, an eerie gleam that traveled all the way up to his clear eyes. He would have to be sure to offer a discretionary thanks to his head maid later.

"_Pu ku ku ku_. How touching, O Lord Marshall. It is always good to be reminded how you share your affection for your pupils in the oddest of ways."

"This coming from the upstart who grew up playing with sharp things, things that go BOOM, and things that would do irreparable harm to other living creatures and-or the user himself... Ho, I am left quite speechless. How delightful! Ha ha ha ha!"

"And now, girls, we know why I have a problem with most adults older than thirty, but enough games," drawled The Doctor, steepling his fingers together, "An~ya, I believe you have something on your mind that just begs to be asked?"

Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova had been biding her time, observing the proceedings with as much apparent disinterest as possible. Not once, since the day at the Mahora train station, had the former auror ceased her study of Negi Springfield; discreet and quiet. She treated the matter, as a long-term stake out, a case that would unravel itself, given enough time and effort. She had not missed **that **gleam in her diabolical landlord, roommate, and-or object of absolute revulsion.

"Oh, I dunno, like maybe..." the red-haired girl pouted crossly. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!"

Then again, when compared to others of his ilk, a thought that brought a shiver to her spine, could Springfield be considered the lesser evil? The vile memory of Neji T. Silverberg and his merry band of psychopaths was very much fresh in her mind. Neither he or they were the kind of beasts one could just arbitrarily forget, and last night, now that she thought it over, Springfield had been behaving - _differently_.

"Ah, so a little exposition is order, is it now? Very well," Negi nodded, unruffled by her vexed outburst. "The esteemed gray gentleman to my right (your left, by the way) is my god parent, mentor, superior, and master in the finer ways of the Wyrd."

But just how different was his behavior, or was this inkling of hers a delusional sentiment?

"Zelretch," chuckled the old wizard, as if his naming were some grand cosmic joke. "Some younglings fancy me '_Sir_', '_Lord_', '_Hero_', '_Wizard Marshall_', '_Lord Marshall_', and '_Zelretch of the Jewelry_', but the recent epithet, '_Zelretch the Naughty Old Cod~ger_', seems to suit me quite well, too. Ho ho ho ho. It is a pleasure, children."

With such an "eclectic" air of eccentric majesty about him, Anastasia was not surprised in the slightest that Negi Springfield turned out the way he did: insufferably suave and _weird_.

"The passable automated doll to my left (that _is _your right, girl)," then, said the magister magi in question, "is one of my newest acquisitions and my newly appointed head maid, thanks to a certain arrangement I negotiated just a short while ago."

New acquisitions? An arrangement? Anastasia raised a brow curtly at the bowing clockwork maiden. Who? What? When? Where? and HOW did I miss out on a such an important development? ...I. I remember them talking tall about something or another to that effect back at the bridge, before I intervened but... I didn't think HE was - wait... Mother of Winter, I've got a bad feeling about this!

"And," Negi snickered, an impish grin alit on his cheeky face, "we are all in my new temporally displaced beachside retreat, which once belonged to-"

He must have known what was about to happen because the trumpet of angry footsteps, reminding the magistra magi uncomfortably of a stampeding mob, ushered in a howling individual, who was oddly nostalgic, yet unfamiliar to her keen memory at the same time.

"STOP SCREWING AROUND, NEGI SPRIN-_NYA_! DON'T GET CARRIED AWAY WHEN EVERY-_NYA_...! Oh, rot this LISP YOU'VE-_NYA_...!"

A cat girl, and definitely not in the sense of a human using some costume play, but here, huffing and puffing red, was a legit, seething member of the beast kin, provided her senses were not under some malign influence, Anastasia told herself. The madly taut fur tail, the characteristic feline ears bent down and back in a twitchy aggressive stance, and those fierce eyes with slitted pupils drawn so tight that only the finest of silk threads could be strung through them; all evidenced pointed in the direction of a beast kin, whom are a relatively common demographic in the Wizarding World. She could only pray Springfield had not summoned another one of his weirdos from his menagerie on the pretense of "lightening the mood".

"Hu~llo, puss in boots!" sang Negi jovially, as he rose from his seat to greet the intruding newcomer face to face. It seemed he did not mind in the slightest that her red painted nails shared more in common with protractible claws, which could mean a lot of discomfort for him in a few short moments. "Finally managed to wriggle yourself into _THAT _outfit, I see?"

Speaking of the outfit, the furious beastkin girl wore it, a little too well. It was almost fetishistic in the way the obviously undersized attire, a Mahora Academy All-Girls Junior-High school uniform in fact, clung to her glamorous figure. Why she could easily compete amongst the cream of the crop of Class 3-A's beauties, many of which had the makings of top models and-or super models already. Appearing eternally youthful yet attractively mature, tall, and fair skinned, her gorgeous complexion, noble and haughty, likely owed its perfection to northern bloodlines, judging by her dazzling blue eyes and most enviable long silken blonde hair.

Verily, those flowing strands of gold, pouring down like a waterfall to her nubile hips, possessed a certain fantastic "Movie Star" charm. Difficult to describe in words, Anastasia could only think of them, as having a kind of lively, wavy, and debonair "fluffiness" that made her want to tear out those wretched golden locks even more with her bare hands! Any self-respecting girl would want a piece of **that **girl's hairdo. To make matters worse, the madonna's generous bounty of curves in all the right places was accentuated to green-eyed scandal by the substitution of a stylish bodice cut so low, it functioned as a corset!

Naturally, the magistra magi had to vent lest she follow through on her own bitter impulses. Who the hell did this hissing floozy think she was? Just because she's a little pretty and BIG, that MILK COW thinks she can strut around like a...!

It was a truly detestable sight, but Anastasia found her increasing vehemence stopped cold by a more disturbing sight.

"Hmmm, _hmm_~! _C'est tres magnifique_," chuckled Springfield, as he eyed the unnamed girl up and down, with a critical gaze. There was an intensity in his manner, the tautness of his brow and the careful pick of his hands that spoke of great concentration, which reminded her of an owner appraising his very own - pet. "Ku ku ku, as expected my pet. You really are a top-class kitten; yes, you are, dearie~!"

Anastasia blanched. Why? Why was that girl not denying his craven insult, yet only gazing hatefully back at him, her complexion flushed? Why was she letting that insufferable bourgeoisie bastard do as he pleased, though her hands knotted into trembling fists?

"S, Spring, F, f, FIELD-_nya_...!" growled the beast girl in a disturbing stilted lilt.

There, a sparkle of crimson, and suddenly, the sorceress found herself reaching in a panic for her own neck. Here, she discovered no choker, a priceless thing of black cloth and white lace, studded with an ornate silver rose, from which a paired chain link dangled beneath it. At the end of chain was a silver crucifix in Gothic-style, more akin to a sword than a cross, and there the source of the crimson light was found: a blood red ruby, cut into an impossibly perfect diamond, its luster and shine inexplicable.

And if her senses were to be believed, the gem throbbed and hummed, with a life of its own, mysterious and seductive. This quickening melody could only be the beat of a heart.

"Well, then, you can go back and change into the next one now...which one was it again, Karakuri-kun? Tsk. I'm thinking~...the Chinese dress is it?"

Springfield's mischievous whimsy returned her to the present, and thusly abashed, Anastasia averted her gaze, hoping against the impossible that no one had noticed her lapse in bearing. Goodness, what had come over her? Just... Just what **is **that choker? No, it could not be just some frivolous ornament; that choker. ...It reminded her of a COLLAR! Why? Why would any self-respecting person wear one? It was a strange, _weird_, and utterly...

**Deviant**.

"Correct-_usa_," Chachamaru nodded in polite deference, but underneath her exterior of feigned disinterest, she could hardly wait to see how her new master would fair against the diabolical bomb that had been lit by her mistress's scandalous presence.

A hand feeling subconsciously at her throat, Sakurazaki Setsuna-san, having recovered some of her senses at the on set of this racy development, was more than happy to take the loaded gun offered to her.

"N, Ne-GI SPRINGFIELD! Do you know no shame? What kind of depraved farce is this, and just who is that poor girl you have black mailed now?"

Though the sharp-eyed girl's accusation held an element of truth to it, unabashed in the slightest, The Doctor played coy, smiling doe-eyed at Setsuna's quivering index finger. A very rude gesture by Japanese standards to be sure, Negi did love a good sport. _Fu fu fu fu_, the fragrance of suspicion and scandal, how heady; he could never tire of entertainment like this!

"**Black** _mailed_, you say? Girl, do you realize what trash wanton that you speak of? THIS, I assure, you is an utterly consensual RE~la~tionship. We entered into a contract, she and I, and the ritual, if I am not so crass in boasting, was a complete success!"

"Wh, wha, what are you talking about?" the bodyguard reddened to her ears. "Y, you...you fiend! I can't believe I trusted you even for a second to watch over _ojou_-sama, when-"

"Master Zelretch, you **are **the vampire expert here. Would you be so kind as to enlighten me to the name of the ritual again? ...Wait, hold that thought. It was _**Ama lamia**_, or something to that effect, yes?"

Contracts? Rituals? Vampires? ..._Ama lamia_? The correlation of such words, clearly, escaped Setsuna's harried intellect, but the same could not be said for Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova. She could not place her finger on the exact outcome; however, the aggravated burning sensation around her throat said plenty of the wicked misfortune about to dawn on her. What the petite redhead did not have the faintest clue about was the wretched ache, returned with a vengeance in her chest?

It was green. It was vile, just like those first days of hell, when she first met Springfield! ...W-H-Y?

"Heh, not that the particulars are dreadfully important," Negi went on with an ineffable shrug. "What matters is the results, and here we have it: ladies, you could say of the newly debuted and most lovely _Miss _Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, I am her dominating master, owner, benefactor, and extremely demanding blood pack that will make her work for every last tasty morsel of the crimson wine in my veins. ...Does that short of the long do it for you, gir~ls~?"

How Machiavellian of The Doctor. Naturally, Setsuna was caught wrong footed in more ways than one by the shocking revelation. How in the four winds did the infamous lolita vampire of Mahora Academy undergo such a miraculous metamorphosis? She had heard a word or two about MacDowell's curse and status, when she came to Mahora Academy some two winters ago, at Lord Konoe's discretion. To see the vampire unleashed, so to speak, was...

"Th, tha, th, th, THAT's EVAN-_GERU_-INE?"

"When will you brainless apes stop carrying on like I'm not standing here?" muttered Evangeline sulkily.

"Why is she so BIG?" Setsuna pointed out the obvious.

"Well, as Zelretch explained it," The Doctor shrugged airily, "Evangeline screwed the pooch, most majestically, in her right of succession when she killed her sire and forgot to drink the bastard's blood. Thus, she failed to trigger the vampire equivalent of adolescence, and became a laughing stock to her rivals and peers for centuries, which she chose to make up by being quite possibly the meanest, most ornery vampire in known history. This could have been amended much less messily had she drank the blood of some other higher vampire, but **no**~, she never did that either. It did not help matters she ran into the Thousand Master, and we all know how that story goes."

It was a rather unflattering statement, but Negi being Negi, he was not in the slightest bit ruffled by the flashing glare Evangeline shot his way with the fury of a thousand suns. Never mind the rest of the occupants of the room were hoping their sweat would not spontaneously ignite from just being in the same vicinity of the death glare's intended recipient. The only exceptions to the rule were the old wizard and Chachamaru: the former because he was busy trying not to laugh, and the latter because she did not perspire in the first place.

"So, Zelretch and I, after convincing the old men to give her parole a shot, did a little tinkering... And it turns out the Infernus curse binding her here is fiendishly complex and will take some time to undo, but I wanted a quick fix. Ol' man Zel recalled the _**Ama Lamia **_ritual, blah-blah, blah... We compared oranges and apples. Did some more tinkering and voila!"

If the fiery reception from before was too hot for comfort, the rose tinged sparkling atmosphere exerted by the magister magi on contact of "gluing" himself to the seething Dark Mistress earned a most fascinating reaction. Evangeline squeaked at the sudden about face, coloring a pretty shade of pinkish red...

"We have got ourselves BIG Evangeline, who looks way~ better than her glamorous illusion, by the way," snickered Negi smugly. "Mmm~, mm, mm! Yes sir, yes sir, who knew her expectations were so LOW of herself? You girls have a LOT of catching up to do, methinks. _Ii_-_hihihihi_!"

Anastasia turned acid green, and Setsuna turned pitch black. He should have been killed a million times over within seconds, but as the girls lacked any kind of psychokinetic capability, The Doctor still breathed. Besides, it was a perfectly executed diversionary tactic. They would not bother him about the specifics until much, much later, and just to be sure, the schedule would go according to his plan; he had some thing extra, just for them.

"Oh, and Evangeline's now free to follow me or do whatever she pleases, that is within a specified radius of my person that can be pre-determined as our level of trust grows. AND she'll get BIGGER," this, the savvy boy professor emphasized by nuzzling his cheek against Evangeline's ample bosom, "coinciding with my growth as a magus, more powerful, blah-blah-blah, some secret super somefink in that rosary, which is the sign of our contract, by and by... Hnnn, I even got a probationary pactio card out of it - funny, huh? Ah, and I got some tattoos on me somewhere, and..."

Suffice to say, his adorable poison pink chihuahua and his delinquent intern turned newest patient forgot all about the original purpose of their line of inquiry. It was rather hard to ignore Evangeline's sensual, frustrated purring, the result of some harmless doting affection from him through their new metaphysical bond, not that it was her fault. See, she was powerless to resist him in the first place, since during the ritual, Negi had defeated her soundly in "The Test of Dominance" portion of the ritual.

No matter how civilized they believed themselves to be, it seemed the lords of the night could not eschew all of their inherently debased nature.

"_Ii~hihihi_! Isn't she just the best thing ever on TWO LEGS! It is like I have my own undead doll to dress up! ...And yes, she can now leave campus because we have modified her code, metaphorically speaking, to register her new existence to the defense system as - a **cat**. Well, a vampiric kitty cat to be specific, you understand? Yes? ...No? Tsk. Again, the old user identification tag of Evangeline Athanasia Katherine MacDowell still exists. But now she has a younger twin sister called Evangeline Athanasia _**KITTY **_MacDowell. Two user IDs. Completely different rules. ...Or somefink like that, happy?"

They say: some people have the privilege to be collared, and some others have the honor of holding the whip. Certainly, Doctor N. Springfield preferred to be holding the whip, never mind the thrill of being the dominator brought the strangest curiosities about him. Evangeline A.K. MacDowell was without a doubt a top-class pet, and he could not help but tease her more and more, while wondering what other experiences lie in wait should he happen to expand his wicked menagerie.

Oh, and nevermind the fact that his employees were plotting how many ways could they murder him horribly without his explicit consent.

"_Uuuuuuuuuuu_..." moaned Evangeline onerously, big fat kitten tears tugging at the edges of her vividly blue eyes. "Monster. Devil. Villain! _Uuuu_... You are the worst!"

How she heaved and squirmed under his ministrations! It was mar~velous. What a high to know - _**Pop**_!

The unexpected grazing impact to the nose instinctively pulled back The Doctor, as if he had been struck dead on by a cross to the face. A learned reflex from many hours of hellish sparring against The Master where near misses still packed an unpleasant surprise, the boy magister stood stonily. His gaze unblinking, and oddly enough, he was not moved in the slightest by the bloom of nubile flesh now spilling out of Evangeline's blouse, barely kept in check by her lacy white brassiere.

Suffice to say, it was much too late to salvage the situation by the time Zelretch of the Jewelry loosed a coarse guffaw, slapping merrily at his thigh.

"Well..." Negi sniffed irritably, never mind he had avoided getting dinged in the face multiple times by the sudden burst of airborne plastic. "Rot me; those buttons are going to be a pain to sew-"

Alas, Evangeline's newly revealed sense of modesty was having none of his utilitarian reasoning. Oh no, she turned red, breathed deeply, and bleated out the mother of all screams at him.

"_NOOO~oooo~_!"

Had he been wearing his beloved A.R. glasses (may he, she, it, or whatever rest in peace), Negi might have had to deal with the unpleasantness of digging shards of zero-gravity manufactured fiberglass out of his face. And so the genial atmosphere in his parlor would have been quite ruined by a biohazard outbreak, instead he was given the mercy of an unsavory tang in his mouth, courtesy of sympathetic shock, feeding back through his metaphysical link to the Dark Mistress. The flow of sensation and color spelled out Evangeline's displeasure at him in ways that words could never describe, as his new pet scurried out into the halls, post-haste, like the bride jilting the groom at a shotgun wedding.

Nevermind the above expression, normally, applied in reverse.

"Cha~cha~maru~," The Doctor cooed, with a sordid smirk. He would deal with the repercussions later, for now, he had some fires to put out. "Be a dear and see to it that she does not hurt herself, will you? I am afraid she is still grappling with her far higher than usual-"

"_Kyaaahhh_!"

"...center of gravity."

The terrific toll of an ignominious crash, followed by mewling sobs shortly thereafter, ignited the temperature in the parlor up another ten thousand degrees in the direction of "it is not the humidity; IT IS THE HEAT". Chachamaru hypothesized she would not be missing much by leaving her social experiment unattended for a time, considering that the flow of events were about to reach critical mass. Even had she been forced to relocate to the beach head, the dutiful gynoid was confident she could still hear all of the macabre details.

So did Chachamaru Karakuri obey, with a polite nod, before ghosting off the stage as well. Besides, her mistress required the benefits a deferring presence, evidently, to soothe over her newly split hairs. Lady Evangeline never did take well to a taste of her own condescending medicine.

"Well, surprise-surprise," Negi turned about to address his remaining guests. "What an unexpectedly modest maiden she is that Evangeline! Who would have figured that the self-styled princess of darkness, a certified Schadenfreude Miss Priss who likes to fight in her underwear, would be such a prude? Modesty? I thought she did not have any left! Good grief, it is not as if I am having her parade herself around like a piece of meat at the dog and pony show - or am I~? Hehehehehe."

The only ones laughing were still the old gentleman (read: eccentric geezer) in black, and the entourage of dispassionate pearly red eyes in his veiled corner.

Thanks a lot, kitty. Remind me to drop a ton of cat nip on you, as payback sometime, hnnn~? I cannot wait to see you rip roaring drunk! thought the boy magister, warding off the unholy murderous intent broiling off in waves from the two seated girls, with his usual playful smile. "Now then, you rascally lot, what do you have to say for yourselves?"

Setsuna Sakurazaki had **had it**. Any common sense of proper decorum seemed to be beyond the grasp of the much debased Negi Springfield. Speaking with him was a waste of breath, and she would tarry around him any longer!

"Kuhh...! I, I... I have nothing more to say! I. Am. Ridding. Myself. of you, and this mad place, NOW."

There need be no more doubts, only one recourse lay in order: it was time to train, and sharpen her steel in eager anticipation of their duel.

"Very well, we can hear your report at a later time, Sakurazaki-kun. But for courtesy's sake, it has only been three days and two nights within this imaginary space. In the real world, the evening of battle has just passed, and the day of classes will be beginning in roughly two hours. Konoe Konoka-sama is fine and none the wiser to your valiant **in**_**competence**_. However: I cannot say that Konoe Konoemon-sama shares the same sentiments. Your absurd longsword will be returned to you at the door, so do have a pleasant day!"

"Rrgghh! I won't forget this shame, Springfield. While you wait anxiously, do us all a favor and clean your neck; I **will **defeat you and _claim _my rightful place, _**magi**_!"

Her ultimatum delivered, the guard of the Konoe Clan left the stage, her school uniform's pleated skirt aflutter, in a scorned dead bolt that emphasized her utter disgust. Ruefully, thrown gauntlets from a backwater country bumpkin did not impress the ineffable Doctor N. Springfield any where near as much as the unexpected stark revelation in her choice of under things.

Wait a second, are those BIKE SHORTS? he thought, positively scandalized on the inside. Good heavens, that...

Somewhat inappropriate thoughts aside, that is concerning the firmness of the samurai (otaku?) girl's glutes, which any extraordinary English Gentleman should be having, _**clearly**_, Setsuna had not learned any lessons from fighting with The Advocate's right hand man. The terse "Curator of the Stage", a Mister Fate, may have given her a thrashing more thorough than Negi had diagnosed initially. Some screws were loose from the bulkheads upstairs, and the poor girl had forgotten all about how he had gone about embarrassing her when they first met.

Nevertheless, her desperate passion did not bore him. It was quite...interesting, actually, and perhaps, an unusual reward might arise should he expend a little extra effort to investigate the history of her malaise a step further. But even with the irascible Sakurazaki girl gone, the work of a doctor as wicked as he was far from finished, clapping his hands together, The Doctor turned a droll sidelong glance at his favorite poison pink chihuahua skulking away on her divan.

"And what about you, my darling cousin? Do you require the slumber of my villa for another day?"

If Setsuna Sakurazaki had been a flame to tinder, than Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolva was the biting gelid water beneath a frozen lake.

"I think, I am beyond caring..." she addressed him curtly. "And I feel like I should be strangling you. **Badly**."

It was the exact sort of sulky reaction that Negi adored about her, "Heavens, my cousin, am I touched! Genuinely so."

"The _strigoi_'s right. You. Are. THE WORST."

"You know you would not want me any other way, magistra magi. Why, you have seen the possibilities yourself first hand, and if nothing else, I have always been the lesser of two evils. _Iihihihi_!"

Anastasia rolled her eyes, taking a moment's pause to stem the urge to massage her agitated temples, "We are going to have to fight them again, won't we?"

"Of course," the boy magister snickered back. "I thought it was quite elementary, actually. Why? Do you wish to resign from the field?"

Maybe it was stress, a trick of light and shadow, but for a moment there, she swore Negi Springfield, English Gentleman (oh, really now?), looked concerned. Funny, Anastasia did not think he had the heart to care, when no one's coarse backside was on the chopping block for the headsman's axe.

"It wouldn't do me any good. Now that I have seen them, those two crazies promised they would hunt me down, just because I managed to give them - a good time. Doesn't matter where I run or hide, they told me that they'd find me, in the end."

"I am sorry to hear you have acquired some unpleasant stalkers, dearest cousin. Perhaps next time, you will show more than a care when I am forced to stave off the attentions of my students. _Lust_y hearted, uncivilized things they are, your peers, hmm?"

Ugh, rot you, you bourgeoisie bastard! thought the red-haired girl, feeling more than a little bit snubbed. "Negi Springfield, would it kill you to be honest about what in the world you've gotten me into?"

"You said it yourself," Negi answered, blinking owlishly at her. "_**The World**_."

"That's just sophistry!" hissed Anastasia.

"I am not using my glib-tongued to occlude and distort the evidence, _Miss _Police Girl, if that is what you believe."

"P, p, POLICE girl! ...You bigheaded, little-!"

"Ha ha ha ha, that's it! That's it! That is the expression I do treasure so, on your sweet face, cousin dear~est! _Fu fu fu fu_! ...But, frankly cousin dear, do not fret your petty little head over those bargain bin clowns, too, terribly. I shall not allow you, or anyone concerned with the matter, to die like a **dog **under my watch. You _will _have your fighting chance, I promise, but - that chance depends largely on the quality of the information you can provide me."

Again, Anastasia gave pause, a moment to compose herself. Mother of Mary, why was it always like this between her and Springfield? These pseudo civilized conversations that would swell and burn in an instant, only to flash and freeze at his next whim? The red-haired girl's eyes narrowed crossly.

"Information? ...What about it?"

"Goodness gracious, why else are we having this conversation?" Negi spurned her, dryly.

It was only by the unlucky incident of nipping at her tongue by accident that Anastasia grimaced, rather than exploded in a rather unladylike diatribe. She did not doubt for a second that he had witnessed her unseemly hesitation, the boy genius flowing into his lecturing mode, as if they were in class, before the teeming mass of his fawning students.

"I need to know the capabilities of my enemies. The white imitation of me is assuredly a fulsome snake. Even if I was desperate, I would never send one of you after him. Heh. Why, you would not even present an inconvenient speed bump to him."

"A a a a, A SPEED BUMP!"

"The reality is in front of you, cousin. Now is hardly the time for pride to cloud your better judgment, when you were cornered squarely by mere cat's paws."

Anastasia ashened. He was right, and if there was one thing she could agree on that what was best in her interest, Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova would happily see to what must be done.

"Ugh. Have it your way, Springfield."

Negi nodded his ascent...

"Good, girl. Now-"

...and was given the cold shoulder impeccably by the adorable Kommisar Anya, skulking away stage right. She did say she would cooperate, but Anastasia never specified her method, much less a delivery date. A more demotic rogue made of still innocent, inchoate will would have been shaken to tears by her curt departure. The shaking, a subtle palpitation of his eyes and lips, upturning into The Doctor's playful devil-may-care smile that he had never be caught dead without, was not an indicator of wounded feelings.

"And if you care, I paid special attention to our rowdy island girl; promise she won't remember a thing of the night's events, as if it were little more than a midsummer's dream, my dear~!"

He was thrilled, beaming with a light of nacreous joy in the mysterious, Chthonic depths of his black heart. Ah, his dear lil' poison pink chihuahua; what a feisty creature she is!

"Ho ho ho, quite a handful you have chosen to be your acolytes," chuckled the old shadow in the corner. "You always had an eye for interesting things."

Negi nodded his agreement, before meandering lazily over to the vacated divan, still warm to the touch.

"However, do correct me if I happen to err in my old age, dear boy, but since when did you become such a frabjous liar?"

The living room quieted, as if waiting in bated breath, at the challenge hanging in the air. Zelretch had the decency thankfully to ascertain that their would be no unwanted plebes eavesdropping in a conversation privy only to wise men, who felt the high point of wisdom to be the discovery of their own folly.

"Then I do beg your pardon in advance, teacher, as Miss Cocolova has lead me to believe she knows what strigoi are, or at least the mistaken impression of one (damn dreadful things they are. I think it is reasonable inference that she is prepared to meet a most grisly end at some point, if she dabbles in such an occult subject."

"So sayeth the poor, poor boy with a **hole **in his heart."

"A flesh wound, I assure you," chuckled Negi dryly. "I can walk it off."

The old wizard in black laced his white gloved hands together. Goodness how times change; he could remember a time, when little Springfield was such a polite child. Is it possible that there was an imperfection in his pedagogy? Well, if tact was out of the question, then Zelretch had few other choices, save to break his foot in the proverbial bear trap's backside.

"My disciple, I made no jest when I released you from stasis. Be reasonable, Negi Springfield. By far, it would behoove you to take a leave of absence and return with me at once to our home. The erosion is spreading, far faster than we anticipated prior. I thought we would have until the summer before your soul waveform was due for a resonance, but... The Crawling Chaos' dissonance is maligning your..."

"Wot travesty is this? You would have a change of heart, is it now?" the boy genius's eyes colored with a veiled dagger. "Teacher, I thought coming here to this backwater end of the woods was supposed to be a pleasant convalescent leave for me! Bah. Well a fat load of good its done, has it not?"

"Negi, our theory was based on the expectation that you would find some desire or object to fill the deepening void in your soul, and I am disappointed to see that the boy in my company this day is the same manic child on the verge of death a little over six months ago. There is little meaning in therapeutic treatment, if the patient is unwilling to cooperate in the regimen."

"Ah, but therein lies the fallacy in your reasoning, teacher, I **have **gained a desire: obsession."

Zelretch gave an airy sigh. Certainly, he was not bored by the human child, but the boy's intense drive could be a curse in disguise.

"Negi. It is not just the erosion from The Boundary you have to fear anymore. Your new friend left a parting gift to you as well. There is a foreign waveform invading your body, corrosive in nature, but soluble as poison. Truly it is a thing of fiendishly infernal conception. ...I managed to isolate it somehow, repair much of the physical damage, but it is a certainty that only **madness **and _death _lies in your near future, despite our repeated warnings and best efforts to prolong your reckless life. Your condition needs to be monitored, at a bare minimum, for the next one to two months."

"Excellent. All the more reason for me to return the favor to that snake!" chuckled The Apprentice, a feral grin pulling on his lips. "Heh. Corrosion? Poison? It suits his image perfectly."

"Negi. Perhaps, you heard me wrong, but you are not in any shape to be going on a witch hunt, with extreme prejudice, and do not bother to disavow yourself of blame. ...I am well versed in your methods."

"I learned from the best, and it is not as if I am ungrateful. Without your seemingly divine interference, I imagine _Inferno _would be quite lonely for me. I have not come close to achieving my quota of filling that place to the septic gallows with my enemies, yet."

"Just to spite you, I think they might try to transfer you up to auspices of _Paradiso_."

"Ugh. _Angels_. Bunch of damned hypocritical posh wankers, if you ask me. But, be frank with me, teacher: **who **sent you? How did you know?"

Zelretch groaned inwardly. He knew the dreadful question would visit him, inevitably, just like that perturbingly debonair woman told him so.

"One. Your Master. Two. _The Witch_. And on my few scrupulous principles, without the former, I would have never given the time of day to the latter. Even I know that those who gaze into the future-"

Then, as the old wizard feared, he felt a presence on him, all around his personage in fact. The shadows no longer a comforting constant, but turned a malicious thing, intelligent, discerning, _and _patient; this was the problem dealing with a magus, who specialized in dark magic. Negi Springfield always did have the most creatively unpleasant ways to show his infinite displeasure.

"I never thought I would see the day that Master would heed the words of a _Witch_. I knew he had grown to tolerate her presence, but this sort of rosy development is...scandalous to say the least."

"Boy," Zelretch laughed lightly, hoping to draw the responsibility of blame away from himself. "Bloodedge only had the decency of sorts _not _to tell me the full gory details. The summary, approximately, was along the lines of: '_Zelretch. __**Brat**__. Big trouble. Go East_. _Now_.' It would have been more intelligible if he had not been shaking me the entire time will shouting in my ear."

"He was never good at carrying out civil conversation either."

"Ha ha ha ha, so-"

"No."

"But-"

"My thanks, but I am quite content as is," Negi told him curtly. "My schedule is much too occupied for any unannounced business trips. The earliest I can return is this summer break."

Zeltretch resisted the urge to bring a palm to his throbbing temple. It was so very tempting, too.

"Heaven's divide, **you** might not be '_**you**_' anymore in another three months, my disciple, but so be it."

"Good," smiled the boy magister. "By the way, did you find anything interesting about Miss Kagurazaka?"

The eerie intrusion of "eyes" dissipated from the room, much to the old wizard's relief, though he would never admit to the fact. It was not as if Zelretch feared his own student, he just did not appreciate dirtying his hands with unpleasant affairs. Why, in his old age, the Wizard Marshall felt he was entitled to an easy, savvy way of living. Rot all those suffocating things like bloody adult responsibility!

"The cowbell girl?"

"The very same," Negi's smile grew wider.

"Bare in mind, I was more concerned about your welfare than that spritely little thing. You are an enlightened human. She is **better**."

"Hah. Always an interesting find when a _Superior Human _turns up; I am surprised that the gene lines created by The Ancients eons ago still manifest in our lightless era."

"Without proper equipment and extensive study, I cannot determine much more than the superficial. Miss Kagurazaka's obvious physical talents aside, her lineage appears to possess some kind of latent anti-waveform, targeted specifically to cancel sorcery. I have also discovered signs that she has gone through an extensive - _Personality Layer Readjustment_. It is not just her memories, my disciple. Everything about '_Asuna Kagurazaka_' has been tailor made, a beautiful lie, and the bastard who did it is bloody brilliant. If he were still alive, I would want him on our side right away, ho ho ho!"

And if the arcanoengineer who performed the feat could not be convinced, he would be facing his expiration date quite shortly thereafter.

"And how long ago was this done? Best estimate, please."

"No promises, but judging from the growth curve... I imagine within the decade."

"Hnnn," Negi chewed on the thought. "Any _clues _about who she might have been?"

"Good grief, my boy, have you never heard of privacy? Who is to say she did not willingly consent to the procedure in the first place?"

"And what if it was done against her will?"

"That is still none of our business," insisted Zelretch sternly. "The possibility exists that she could prove to be an asset to _The Society_, but so does the expectation that whoever did this to her is watching over their little bird as we speak."

"When in war, we do what we must, do we not, teacher?"

The Wizard Marshall unlaced his gloved hands. "Negi. I think she was a weapon. Had you been by my side during the examination, you would understand. The H-waves bleeding out from behind those adjustment setting points in her soulspace were... _Cacophonic_. Given that you and I are old friends, you understand that I would not wish upon anyone to hear such horrific dissonance, yes?"

"Very well, so she is damaged goods," Negi nodded, seemingly not acknowledging the sentiment at all. "Pry open only at the risk of my own deteriorating health. Anything else?"

It was quite typical a reaction in their dealings with each other.

"Tut, tut, dreadful as ever I see, but yes, there is one more thing. I have probable cause to believe she made a contract with some despoiled creature from _Inferno_. The signs are all there, acrid brimstone and wispy darkness. Worse, the pact appeared to be - _bloated_."

"Bloated, you say?"

"Yes, like a freshly ripened corpse... It shan't take long to reach fruition. Maybe another year or less, and I loathe to think what will come of it."

"Ha ha ha ha! Jolly good, ol' chap; that's Zelretch, The Grand Master of Procrastination for you!"

"_Ugh_. I think that might have stung me, you little back biting ingrate."

"Oh, pay it no mind, my old windbag. Besides, it _is _another tasty tidbit to while my lonesome hours away with in this boring place. Ii~_hihihi_, things are rea~lly starting to look up for me! And, wot, if I persist to live until that time, I will be sure to tell you all about when the ticking time bomb goes off in my face."

"Gods, boy, at least tell your Master before you decide to open Pandora's Box before the expiration date! ...And will you refrain from shaking my hand? I just gave you a death sentence, not the winning lottery ticket, my foolish disciple."

Negi had the presence of mind to appear bashful, although the sentiment was likely feigned according to his personal script. As much as he despised _Witches_, the irony had yet to occur to the boy that he behaved much like their debased kind, and Zelretch would loathe to spoil such a fruit before its destined day of harvest. He stood up, with added assistance of his stately cane, like a great stone giant quitting himself of the murky refuge of shadow against the mountainside.

"Oh, Master Zelretch, are you leaving already?"

"Yes," answered the steel-haired gentleman, the floor boards creaking beneath his aching old bones. Gone was the playful old man from before, and now, the old graying wizard took his place. "I wish there were more time to tarry with you, my boy, but the world is not about to save itself on its own."

"Come now, teacher, if the brainless herd animal called '_Man_' were so capable of intelligence, you and I would find ourselves in need of new hobbies to save us from the lethargic rot of boredom!"

"Teacher?" the crisp slough cloth from the drawn curtains bathed the room in light, banishing all shadows to the darkest recesses. "And what pray tell did I teach you to be deserving of the title? Bah. I think I have it on good record that you inherited the worst in me."

"Ah ha ha ha! Goodness, O Lord Marshall, did I not mention earlier that we ought to be humble and take the good with the bad? Why, we would not be having this delightful conversation in parting otherwise."

"Negi Springfield, my disciple, you stray much too close for comfort beside Apollo's chariot. Has not the folly of Icarus and Daedalus been espoused to you many times ago?"

Eagerly, the Apprentice grinned, a habit learned only from one person, the only one he would ever acknowledge as his master.

"Let me take a page out from my savvy English gentleman book for you, teacher. '_Nothing ventured_; _nothing gained_.'"

"Tsk. Sharp as ever, little dagger."

"Thank you, thank you!" Negi bowed, before adding slyly, "and besides, what is there to be had from living like Icarus, having lost our innocent bravery? _**The Society**_, for certain, would not have become so great and bureaucratic had it not been for those youthful days and our overflowing questions."

"And we sought out those answers," Zelretch sighed, "at irreversible expense."

"We discovered a labyrinth, a dank Chthonic abyss to everywhere and nowhere. Nevertheless, our conviction did not waver; the answer was there, we were certain that everything would change. Everything would become anew!"

"We faced into the blowing wind that stung the eye, where a glimmer of light appeared."

"And believing that our tears will eventually dry and disappear, we chased it deeper into the writhing chaos, where madness and death lie in waiting darkness, darkest before twilight."

"If you know as much, then why do you hasten towards your own demise, you foolish whelp?"

The boy magus made to answer but in the span of a blink, and surreptitiously rubbing the sleepy tears from his bare eyes, Zelretch was already gone, up and disappeared into the hazy sun kissed air. How like the old man to snub an artful jape before it could be spoken. What a cad, or maybe not?

"Glasses? My goodness, is it my birthday already?"

"The answer is '_NO_'," deadpanned a familiar brassy voice in his inner ear.

"Ah, you left me a parting message, too, did you? And I thought I had a peeve for getting a word in edgewise, old chap."

Humming to life, the lenses transition from pitch black to enhanced clarity, the new A.R. glasses were a good fit, from the same line as his old one, in fact. Considering Negi forgot to dub the last pair that had served him so faithfully without complaint, he would name these ones in honor of the former... Well, he was still thinking of a name, and between the painkillers and lingering agony beneath his skin (that he had kept admirably hidden the whole time through shear force of hubris), the boy magister reckoned he could procrastinate for another day.

Doctor N. Springfield sat down, **hard**. Thankfully, he did not pratfall and found the mark, right back on his adorable poison pink polka dot chihuahua's former divan. Ah, so warm~!

"If you are hearing this, then you have found your new glasses, which means your Master might even be deeper in bed with **that **_Witch _than I first thought. It is a miracle and a blight all bundled up together in a satin package, laced with fragrant pipe smoke, do you not agree, boy?"

Frankly, the old man was right. He had been pushing himself beyond good reason. Today's theatrical debriefing had not been necessary in the slightest, and a few stylishly savvy (read: curt _and _morbidly sarcastic) letters would have accomplished the same feat with half the mess and more the fuss.

"My Master involved with a woman (or a _thing _that passes for a woman) beyond a platonic working relationship? Such an event would rue the day, would it not?"

"Aye. Indeed, it would be a day of calamity, but we digress from the point of this boon."

"For a record, you are anticipating my responses pretty well."

"Blame Bloodedge. He told me to record this message, exactly, word for word. Oh, and he is coming to visit you in the flesh, _soon_."

"He's WHA-Agh...!" The Doctor choked, a rash of pain burning across his middle.

"He heard Mahora Academy," the recording continued on, with what he swore amounted to a hint of orneriness, "holds a fairly interesting culture festival, and thought it a pleasant cover as any to drop by to - as he says - cramp your style."

"Rrghhh... That jackass. I will be sure to give him a warm reception. _Ii_~, ugh, _hihihihi_. Dirty deeds~ / done dirt cheap. _Ii_-_hiihihii_~... Concrete shoe~s / Cyanide, T-N-T / Ooo, neck-tie~s, CON-tracts, HI~gh voltage! ..._ugh_... "

"For the record, I anticipated you would not be returning as much for a _resonance_, so I have reinforced the matrix of the Eldritch Signs on these glasses. If you had not noticed, your madness is starting to become a bit - _catching_. I cannot imagine your little women being **that **unbalanced on a normal day, provided they had a remotely healthy upbringing. The same cannot be said for you."

"I think I am bleeding, and it is not my own blood."

"Your worsening condition aside. I, too, am very interested in this Silverberg character and whoever might be backing him. These glasses have added data gathering capabilities compared to your old ones, but the instrumentation is just as vulnerable. Do try not to get them fried, again. A somewhat dated back-up of your muse has been provided therein, so it should not take long for you to bring their heuristics up to speed. And before I forget I wish you the best of luck, Negi Springfield."

"Worsening condition?" choked Negi. "I was **terminal **a long time ago, you hoary, fogey-headed vampire!"

A fact many people seemed to forget, the Eldritch Society was a gathering of like-minded abnormals and mortals. Some individuals prefer the terminology of "posthumans" rather than the ascetic descriptor, "the abominable ones". Others saw little value in self-beatification, and so a compromise was reached in classifying the former simply as "Abnormals", beings who have retained or gained a fair degree of humanity, but were not humans anymore.

Zelretch of the Jewelry himself was a Dead Apostle, formerly of "The Twenty-Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors". He had not joined the ranks of the not-living by freewill, of course, as in his heyday, the old man had been a wizard of absurd renown and skill. Unfortunately, personal sacrifice seemed to be the norm amongst folk The Master would dub "decent, common sense driven people".

"Then again, my spoiled kitten's problems would not have been mostly amended so swiftly without your help. You are a gold mine when it comes to things arrogant, and not-so-living-dead."

Negi Springfield sighed airily, a sneer on his paling complexion, as he did his damndest not to seethe and wail. His wounds once healed had reopened beneath the thin slip of his white shirt, pouring out bubbling pools of inky black, scented with a hint of sulfur and caustic foulness. The substance burned and ate through flesh and cloth effortessly, in the way of corrosive acid. Could this really be called just any snake's venom?

"Of course not, that is why you are here, is that not right?"

He was mad. He knew it; that was why he ignored them, those jeering crimson eyes belong to the hissing serpent, coiled above in the rafters, like Satan waiting in the branches of the Tree of Knowledge.

"_Sss_~pring-**Field**, _shishishishi_~..."

"I know it is a delusion, a figment of my fever addled mind. I have trained enough to know better than to succumb to such an amateurish trick! You. Will not. ...or more accurately... Cannot. Win. It is UN-thinkable! ..._gugh_."

The pearly-scaled snake listened patiently to the feverish ravings of the sickly wolf, and it would wait for all of eternity, if necessary. After all, what greater joy was there than to watch the death throes of prey and hear of its bittersweet lamentations?

* * *

The Wheel of Fate is turning...

* * *

Production Notes:

13,000-ish words later.

HELL. It's about time.

I think that pretty much describes this extremely belated episode of Springfield, Ph.D. 30+ days in production, and I confess it's not my best work. Life has been a-changing on me, I graduated from NEET-hood, have a legit career-job, got bills and obligations, moved to a new county, out of the house, and, good grief, I really don't have all the free time in the world anymore. Epic Pyrrhic Victory? You be the judge, folks.

Sadly, I am not the god of time management, so concessions had to be made in the production. There is a huge change in direction and quality somewhere midway in this episode, caused by a combination of time constraints, real life, and a paradigm shift in my writing. It might not seem very apparent now, but starting in the chapter, my style is going to change a lot, namely I am going "minimalist". Some of you all might not enjoy this compromise I have made as the captain of the ship, nor are y'all gonna like that my new goal is to be bi-weekly at the very least.

Nevertheless, folks, this does not mean my passion for the craft has died, so it's not like it's the end of the world. When you got bills, obligations, and a legit career to worry about, I imagine, you'll discover the same thing I have: you have got to become more concise. There is only so much time in the day, and to write effectively, you need to have an economy with words. The carefree days of me just splurging overwrought German engineered purple prose are over.

That said, I don't think it's a particularly bad thing, as hopefully, our narrative will become easier to read and more energy efficient. It's a good time for change with the end of 2010 fast approaching, and the effective start of the Kyoto Arc with the next episode, because at a glance I have already skimmed over a lot of the little things going in, e.g. Asuna's birthday, due to my screw up with the timeline (did you notice?). Hence, we can get right to the action.

Now, I expect folks will be a little overwhelmed by the dramatic changes that were made into print in this chapter, so I'll try to cover the obvious things here.

Yes. I threw in a whole Pandora's box worth of implications here. Is there any hope to be seen at all?

Yes. Evangeline has been "upgraded". For visual reference's sake, think of her now as a young fusion of Sheryl Nome, Beatrice the Golden, and herself truly, with a permanent "Cat girl" fetish perk.

Yes. You just saw a huge reference to a relatively young-old anime with the Ama Lamia thing.

Yes. I kinda did a "Pactio" per say, behind the scenes. Don't worry I'll be sure to have Evangeline recount the grisly, macabre details sometime soon just because it was actually THAT savvy (read: S&M humiliating, funny, epic, and oddly WAFFy?).

Yes. Evangeline is coming along for the school trip, the whole friggin' boat and school will be rocked by her brand new debut, and it will be AWESOME.

Yes. Setsuna's the next patient on The Doctor's list.

Absolutely. The intrigue thickens.

What the hell are "H-waves"? I'd have to talk about "Wave Theory", but that's on the to do list, since Anya's going to be asking that question pretty soon.

What about The Stakes and that guy, Coletrain, who is so not Chamo-kun but obviously is? They'll be here next time, along with a fan favorite I've been ignoring. I guess, it's about time too that SHE got her screentime, even though I have my misgivings with her character archtype.

And the changes just keep piling on. I bet y'all can't wait for the mayhem and pactios to hit the fan in Kyoto, huh?

Heh.

Anyways, that's enough of my hyping and unsightly excuses; it's time for us to pay tribute to the real heroes and heroines here. That's you, the readers, fans, and reviewers. I could not have done it without you, and I hope you'll continue to stay on the tour with us, as long as this ride lasts. I live to entertain, and when I cease to be entertaining, then I know it's time to try a new act. Yeah!

Sincerely,

J.

P.S. I just realized the other day that official romanization came out for Anya's name, so... Yeah, can't call her Miss Coco no more. It's time for the KOKOLOVA to enter the stage. ...But does it really sound any better? I'll let you all be the judge on that.

P.S.S. Yes, I also realized I have been snubbing cannon subconsciously by using a different spelling for Evangeline's last name. Figures, huh? I dunno MacDowell just sounded better to me than McDowell, the latter having conotations to McDonald's... Yeah.


	24. Chapter 24

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. Beware: much Do-Ra-Ma-Ko-Me-Di ahead. It ought to put a grin on your face, methinks.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 24:

All-Nighters Do Funny Things to a Body

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

The day of Class 3-A's field trip was an event that would be forever remembered on the sleep deprived melancholy of Doctor N. Springfield. It could not have happened without the sacrifice borne from the sweat of his throbbing brow, **and **the moisturizing eyedrops-assisted tears wetting his irritated eyes. Verily, he looked forward to punching out on the bullet train ride to Kyoto, with a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and a silken siesta mask (for appearance's sake).

There might not be any rest for the wicked, but dead men were entitled to their due: peace of mind.

Ah, what he would give for some melatonin, too. How awful that the root of his recent strings of back-to-back all-nighters could all be traced back to one puss in boots, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell. Was the result worth his diligent efforts, and more importantly, would he repeat the same treatment program given the time and the resources? _Absolutely_.

The former Dark Mistresses reintegration into _civilized _human society proceeded far better than his initial expectations, that is to say, Negi was piqued by the stunning outpour of data from the initial contact experiment. Class 3-A had all but devoured the rebellious debutante, a cool yet spicy "Big Sis" manner of _prima donna_, in one foul swoop. Of course, if it had been a painless integration, there would have been no cause for celebration.

Evangeline Athanasia _**Kitty **_MacDowell, the sensational cousin and-or younger sister, gained instant celebrity (and infamy) the moment she walked through the door, in lieu of MacDowell the Elder. Indeed, the latter was eclipsed as quickly as soiled toilet paper, by the presence of his newest pet, EBAA-swa~n, accompanied by an entire train of ogling (read: slobbering) admirers. The moment she got off the train, they had rode in on her proverbial coat tails, like bees drawn to the scent of nectar.

Nevertheless, the unsightly appearance of callow voyeurs enthralled by her glamorous flame came as no real surprise to Negi, and he paid them no further notice once the riffraff were strong-armed off the premise by campus police. After all, his familiar's attire and "slight" ostentation had been stylized precisely to achieve a modestly charming effect. If there had been no bees following Evangeline, his boredom would have been piqued with quite a curious snack to chew on, convinced that common plebeians had no taste at all in women, much less "what is fashionable" for the times.

Thankfully, The Doctor did not receive another blow to his common sense and dined quite happily on the feast Class 3-A provided. And what a stunning feast it was, elation, awe, bewilderment, curiosity, despair, envy, and more than a little veiled hostility. Oh, 3-A , how they surpassed his expectations!

A boor might have been disappointed by the disparate reactions to "Kitty's" unceremonious arrival and "Katherine's" unforeseen departure, hoping for a seamless transition of normalcy no doubt. Being an English gentleman of eclectic nurturing, however, Negi understood the value of never raising more demons than he could put down. Not to mention, it was better to enjoy the good things in life before they become illegal, immoral, and-or fattening.

That said, barely, he resisted the temptation to preen and bask in the glory of his latest work, a true masterstroke, molding flesh and soul into a sin so deadly it would not be a stretch to call her a guilty pleasure.

The recipe was oh-so-simple, too. _Sans _double-breasted vest, first he substituted the short sleeve shirt for long sleeves peeled back to the elbows in roguish cuffs, then popped her collar and opened the front some to tease at wandering eyes with hints of sensuous lines that many would die for. Now, add the Winter girl's uniform blazer to be tied about the waist contemptuously as a half-skirt, kick those old kickers out for high octane nightmare fetish steel-toed combat boots in black, then a haughty ivory-white Alice band there, and voila, the new and improved Evangeline Athanasia Kitty MacDowell (Mahora Academy All-Girls Junior-High Edition TM) was complete!

The results, thus, conveyed a saucy air of charming hubris, which the Cheerleading Trio ate up on twopence notice, all the while being blissfully unaware that he had taken great care to hide their new "girl friend's" ever curious ears and tail. Of course, there was nothing wrong with flaunting one's natural talents, in Negi's stellar opinion. The cruelty of beauty and the flames of youth were transient, a pint of wisdom the Student Athletes certainly subscribed to, for they, too, did not hesitate jump on the sudden transfer student's bandwagon appeal.

Anyhow, Evangeline had deftly avoided, with the grace of a dancer and the spontaneity of a tumbling gymnast, a surprise barrage of pranks, that left the Narutaki twins positively gobsmacked. If they knew who Negi had commissioned for the act, those precocious girls would have been heartbroken to know that the resident "amateur" ninja, and their frequent playmate, had been holding out on them. Nagase's innocuously diabolical display put his own baptism by fire to shame, but it also served the purpose of cementing his familiar's dominance: be it poise, grace, beauty, and athleticism.

The Student Athlete Trio had bought her story as legit, long before Evangeline began to list off her various accomplishments and clubs she had participated in at her previous alma mater. They were already jockeying for pole position to see who be able to recruit the new genius ace for their respective clubs. Personally, The Doctor was rather surprised that even Ako Izumi, a normally mousy and timid character, had spoken up, throwing in her hat for the Student Health Committee.

"Oh my, oh my, not even a scratch? _Nin_~, _nin_! It just can't be helped, can it?" Kaede commiserated to him discreetly amidst the spirited hubbub, with a beam of her ever foolishly smiling eyes. "This one should not have expected any less from a _mamono_."

Replying, he favored her a smug upturned quirk of his savvy smile. "An '_evil being_' you say? That is describing the situation rather lightly, but should I have expected more coming from you, Nagase-kun? I am shocked. What of your pride as a ninja?"

Curious...

"But the past _was _the past, y'know~, and more important still, if that Yotsuba Satsuki-dono would share her best cooking with such a person, she can't be all bad to the bone, _ne_, Springfield-_sensei_?"

...and _Curiouser_.

"Oh? Evangeline possessed a friend, did she now?"

"_Yaa_~ha ha ha, don't get the wrong idea, _sensei_. The Evangeline-san's we knew, and probably still is, the kind of proud, awkward fellow, who can't, or won't, call someone a '_friend_'."

"An apt observation, my sly student. It sounds just like The Dark Evangel, I know."

"Sly? This one is sly-_de gozaru_? _Iyaa_~ha ha ha, _sensei_, don't be like that. It's troubling to trouble this Nagase Kaede-kun like so. This one did her part, too, didn't she?"

"Agreed, but I have heard, and I will guarantee it. Your foolish wish will be guaranteed."

"Nagase Kaede's wish, _sensei_? _Yaa_~, since when did..."

"You are a ninja, are you not? Go forth, and uncover the web of _truths _for yourself, girl."

Ah, what fun it was to carry on a conversation in plain sight without ever exchanging a single spoken word. Afforded the pleasure to the cornucopia of "fireworks" feeding back through the metaphysical link from his familiar, in peace, The Doctor observed the increasing tempo of developments with great relish. Serving savory sweets first was a bit unusual, but he saw the greater wisdom in the act upon tasting the wholesome spice emitting from a singular vehement cry.

"_Miss _MacDowell-san, what do you think you're doing?" Ayaka Yukihiro rose from her seat in a great reverberating bang. "That uniform is despicable, an open desecration of school policy!"

Contrary to appearances, the heiress of the Yukihiro Zaibatsu took her responsibilities in the student government with dead seriousness. Asuna being Asuna was an exception to her oft unspoken rule. The appearance a genuine rebel, whom quite frankly, made her look ignominiously plain in contrast, had sounded a call to arms all across Yukihiro castle. It did not help that pinned to Evangeline's left sleeve she possessed an _en vogue _armband emblazoned boldly with the word "BOSS", written such that it would evoke the feeling that the heart throbbing rebel carried her own battle standard, always moving forward into the fight.

...or in other words, given an Old Testament slant, she was either a primeval "**Miss **School Gang Leader" at her worse, **or **a Good-is-NOT-Nice "**Miss **Student Council President" at her best.

"Oh, what's this?" Evangeline pursed her saucy moue behind a lacquered fan, cocking an elegant brow at this first outcry of resistance. "How unusual. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting someone so plain in as good while. Feh, I doubt you'd even do the term _vanilla _justice. What say you, little girl?"

The prop (and all players included) The Doctor had staged discreetly, of course, and goodness, what a fabulous phantasmagoria of color did the trembling Miss Yukihiro wash herself in!

"Wha, wh, WHAT!"

"Ho. That reaction, could you be one of those fabled '_Class Representatives_'? ...What a shame. Shouldn't you be trying to aspire more to your stereotype? I expected someone more - intellectually _sexy_. Glasses, a ribbon, hair clips, or an attitude change would do wonders for your image. As you are, I can hear all kinds of people crying themselves to sleep in disappointment."

Valiantly, Ayaka countered the golden rebel's thrust with a point of her own, "Just who do you think I am? I'm the furthest thing from some occult, moron class rep otaku! More importantly, don't think you can feign ignorance to dodge the question because you just transferred in. Have you no shame?"

Indeed her very irate, scandalized expression screamed: I can't stand you! You beastly, hussy thing!

"Oh my, how dreadfully Philistine! Are you saying you don't want to be a more dazzling person?" Evangeline fanned herself airily. "I'd be more than happy to produce you, considering my fanclub can vouch that I really **do **put the _sparkle _in sparkling. Why, I bet I could transform you into a real _star_, _Miss _Class Rep-san, _fu fu fu_~!"

The Cheerleaders Trio were more than happy to voice their support at the proposition, ignorant of the faint hint condescension behind their new idol's magnanimity.

"Ayaka-_iincho _with a makeover? _Kyaa_~! That'd be great! She'd be SOoooooooo~ SMEXY~, _kya_, _kya_, _kya_~!"

Before she knew it, Miss Yukihiro found herself becoming the lady who doth protest too much, swamped by various suggestions on a personal makeover from the girls who stood proudly under the golden rebel's banner. The battle was lost. However, Doctor N. Springfield doubted she would have little trouble finding support to stamp out Evangeline's rebellion.

Objectively speaking, the majority of 3-A's girls were a combination of wistfully crestfallen and politely curious, and a smaller percentile who quite frankly did not give a hoot. An outlier of interest came in the form of Asuna Kagurazaka who had the good graces to be herself, that is lost in the sauce (according to some trendy metaphors), and simultaneously embarrassing to the outside observer. She sat apishly in her seat, brow furrowed, and shoulders bent forwards, her eyeline tracing a flagrant vector toward Evangeline's ample bosom.

It was quite rude in his opinion, an offense made worse by the look of utter concentration on the deposed "delinquent" girl's face, as Kagurazaka clenched and unclenched her hands methodically. The latter action, perhaps, was meant to aid her in heuristically solving some outrageous theory floating in her headstrong little mind. Of course, the foundation of his argument lay in the premise that she did not mean to paint herself intentionally as a deviant voyeur.

At least Miss Kagurazaka has enough marbles left in reserve to not mumble her ruminations aloud, thought The Doctor while he tried his best to ignore her mussitating lips that told him more than he needed to know. Otherwise, all doubts, for the general public, would be removed on how far her barbarism went. As for my sanity's sake, I am afraid I am much too wicked to be spared the misery of knowing better.

**Big**. Flat. **Big**. Flat... Asuna told him without telling him explicitly. Arr~ghhh, I don't get it at all! That's the little sister? Get serious here! It oughta be the other way around, right-right? _Uuuuu_. I can't take it. It makes my head. Hurt. So. Much~!

_Ahem_, in any event, should the Yukihiro heiress become the wiser she could find willing hands, certainly, in the darkly company of a certain Chao Lingshen. Funny how her surname resonated more melodiously to the ear than her first, just like Miss Kuu Fei, huh? Any similarities between the two Chinese exchange students ended there, of course. He doubted the other girls in this unfriendly faction would go as far as what the head of that brilliant mind had conceived at first sight, if her credentials were genuine.

And if so, The Doctor was remiss in failing to discover such a fascinating find sooner. His recollections of her presence dim, another simpering character hiding behind a near constant coloration of her cheeks, which in his opinion was not remotely human possible. ...unless Miss Chao was a closet pervert waiting to transform into a full blown wanking deviant.

Still, whatever the case might be that look suited her well, a flash of absolutely murderous rage, which radiated a strange sensuous appeal. A pure expression of cool, calculating murder that peculiarly enough, Negi found himself fancying quite a bit. He would not mind seeing that about face again, although thank goodness, Evangeline was being such a distraction that no one else paid the slip in Chao's character any heed at all.

Oh, and since _when _did Miss Chao grow her hair out too? _Long_, braided pigtails **and **hair buns? Heavens, talk about aggressive marketing concerning her marital status! Come to think of it, he was rightly astonished by how quickly she switched from glowing sweetness upon his commenting about her "emergent" appearance at the train station, to droll resignation that most likely she would not be picked to join his tour group. Her cheery pretense, then, dissolved into a complete about face at a surprising revelation, namely his decision to include her in the said tour group.

It was only by prodigious amounts of peer pressure and physical assistance from dearest Anya that Chao the Human Bear Trap was pried off his savvy person. Hah. What a pleasing character, and with any luck, she ought to make for a fun diversion, if the veiled look of smugness the President of Quantum Physics Club (at the university level, no less) shot Evangeline had anything to say about the subject.

...On a side note, The Doctor suspected it would be quite easy to transform Miss Chao into a bonafide "Deadly Sin", as all he would need to acquire is a pair of white long gloves, high heels, and a red "China Dress" appropriated into an open-back styled cocktail dress!

_Mmmm_, he can see the holocaust of spastic bodies in red ecstasy already, struck down by profuse nose bleeding. Side slits for thigh highs or garter belt play might be overkill, but then again, there was no kill quite like OVER-kill, no?

Anyhow, as for his beloved puss in boots... Ah, Evangeline! She had no idea how she was being targeted, so aw-fully. Ha ha ha ha! Girls can be such terribly territorial creatures. If Eva-_swaa_~n knew what was good for her, she would do well to stay well away from Kazumi Asakura and Chisame Hasegawa, too. What a shame that both of them had not been absorbed into her tour group, due to their fortune of being attached to the selections that did not include her newly found "minions" (read: _friends_).

Verily, 3-A's new golden girl was happy to be away from him. The age old wisdom of "Once bitten, twice shy", all too naturally, applied even to the mean spirited runt who had earned herself the epithet, The Girl Queen of Darkness. The Doctor did not blame her either, considering the therapy regimen he had put into action. Any being with an ounce of self-respect would resent him with every burning fiber of their ungrateful personage for airing out their rank, filthy laundry in gruesome, ugly detail.

"And what complaint do you have of this blessed providence I have given you, my pet?" he asked later that day of her debut.

The sough of her skirt underneath the table extolled of Evangeline's sentiments to the point. "Blessed? What's blessed about it? Show me!"

She was quite cross with him, which made it all the more hilarious in hindsight, when the former Dark Mistress had expressed "hurt" at not being included in his little "focus" group. Fact, there had been a foudroyant tidal wave of relief that she escaped his notice, like a petulant child giddy to be free of curfew.

"Oh woe is I! Tell me. Tell me. TELL~ me~! What doth displease thee, my kitten? Is the costume and make up of poor quality? The script third-rate? And the fedding supporting cast, well, in dire need of having legs broken?"

"What! A, are you mad? Break their legs? ...No. You're not mad. You ARE a monster, Negi Springfield."

"Better the one you know than the one you do not know, dear," he beamed at her.

Evangeline grimaced, brandishing her fan hotly. "I never asked to be paraded around like the spoils of war, and I definitely didn't ask for this ARTIFICIAL providence either!"

"You mean to say you never wished for a thrice blessed, golden school life? Surrounded by friends and admirers? Butting heads with authority figures? And getting even with rivals and the like? ...Ah. How repugnantly boring. I think my opinion of you just hit another all time low."

"Friends? You call those class-less flapper girls, FRIENDS?" she raised her voice. "Bah. I think my stock in your tastes has fallen to another hell."

To be frank, it would not matter how loud either of them chose to harangue one another, as per his "suggestion", Evangeline had cast an illusory charm to guarantee their privacy at the bustling street side cafe chosen for their impromptu afternoon tea.

"Oh, you are learning. Fasc~inating," Negi's smile brightened. "But I see you have glossed over your own logical fallacy quite conveniently. Come now, did you forget already? Think it over, one more time, EBAA~-swa~n, _iihihihi_!"

"What's there to think about?"

"You chose them, you posh half-wit. Aside from the cheerleaders, Okouchi Akira, Izumi Ako, Sasaki Makie, and Akashi Yuna, all were your former minions. You may not have turned them, but a vampire's kiss is nothing to joke about... The ugly truth: it is a hunting tool that plants a deeply ingrained compulsion, which when combined with the vampire's charisma, commands an unusual level of servile obedience from the prey. Drinking five litres of blood at once is an awful lot for a creature that has roughly the same body plan as its prey; hence, the need for a mechanism that facilitates repeated feeding."

Evangeline turned green. "...Rrrghh, you-"

"And let me remind you, that Akashi-kun's father has a burning desire to end you. I was quite surprised to discover he was a mage. Thus, there was a high probability that had Akashi Yuna been turned, she could have emerged as a true vampire. ...In which case, I would have been happy to lend him my expertise in exterminating you AND his daughter. How in the world the Headmaster is keeping him at bay is anyone's guess. My indignation, I assure you, will never be contained so easily."

She put on a brave face snorting flippantly, but the regal rosario choker was a grim reminder that were few and far idle boasts when it came to her new master.

"Hmph, so they flock to me because they're brainless, too? Terr-iffic. Thank you so~ much, _My Master_."

"After a fashion, yes; then again, I never mentioned it to anyone concerned that I was able to rid the Vampire's Charm completely of those girls. It is only natural that the human proverb, '_once bitten, twice shy_', does not apply to the supernatural."

"And what of those cheerleaders? Do they ingratiate themselves to me because I bit them too?"

"Oh, no," Negi pushed up his glasses. "That is _your _charisma, Miss MacDowell. Beauty, you see, can be both enthralling and frightening. I think you deserve enough credit to be able to discern which camp those girls fall into, no?"

The Girl Queen of Darkness made a face, a sensuous flash of anger that only made her all the more adorable to him.

"My, still unsatisfied? ..._Iihihihihihi_~! Good, good. I would have been dreadfully disappointed otherwise."

"YOU. What are you trying to prove by doing all this?"

"I shall not lie, my beloved puss, for your master does admit to having some theories in social engineering that require - _experimentation_."

"Feh. I felt as much..."

"But is it so bad if you earn yourself the much fabled golden school life - and a few friends for this lifetime? Life. It is meant to be enjoyed, you know?"

"Friends? Bah. Why should I bother? When it would only be all for naught, my hands forced to erase their memories of my own existence?"

"As a certain someone mentioned to me the other day, the past _was _the past. Your time has begun to move once more, and I, for one, will not require you to perform such a deed, when I am obligated to dirty my hands personally in the matter. See: my lab, my experiment, my clean up... Savvy?"

"_Rrrgghh_, the shackles of the past isn't something to be shaken off so lightly! ...And what would you know? Those days. **My **days of hell. Trapped me _**That Man **_did in a cycle of four years, the same monotony repeating over and over! I won't forgive him for that. EVER."

"And you would still have faith in a two-timing bastard, an oathbreaker who cosigned you to such a fate?"

"...My faith isn't about...that. I want only one thing. Satisfaction. I'll confirm with my own eyes the truth of the Thousand Master. That's why I'm taking this journey!"

"And what gives you such unfounded confidence?"

"It's not unfounded," Evangeline smiled, like a cat that had just caught the mouse by its tail. "I have proof. **Him**. And maybe, **you**."

The Doctor cocked his head aside, catching the lenses of his glasses aglow with an eerie light.

"For the record...I have no brother, and certainly, no relation with that buffoon, an idiot who became strong only by the virtue of his loins and dumb luck!"

"_Kiihihihihi_, how irrational of you, Mas~ter Springfield. I see shadows of _him_. In you. Don't you know~? Everyone who knew him has seen the signs. It's just too much to be pure coincidence."

"Che. I do not give a damn about their snogging fantasies, and **you**, dear, are a thousand years too soon to be giggling so vulgarly, even if-"

"There's a clue in Kyoto. Why don't we go for the class trip and confirm it for ourselves, hnn? I'm sure Nagi's old lackey, Eishun, would be happy to cooperate with us. After all, last I recall he was still minding one of The Thousand Master's haunts in his egregious absence."

'twas a slap to his smug mug, as real as any white gloved (or mail-fisted) blow. Though indentured to the bottom of the totem pole, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell had no compulsions that would dissuade her from biting him in the heels, given the opportunity. She still possessed a mean spirit of hubris, which he did not dislike particularly. It was entertaining, and more importantly, it told him of her dark fears and great expectations still.

Doctor N. Springfield was never one to disappoint, even if the odds liked to throw a spanner into his plans.

"I beg your pardon, Dean-dono, but do correct me if I did not hear you right and by," he furrowed his brow in curt attention.

Suffice to say, it was not the most pleasant of conversations he had the displeasure of partaking in as of late.

The squirrely old sorcerer combed a bony hand through his beard. "None taken, Springfield-sensei. Ho ho ho ho! But, try to understand the circumstances here, my young friend, the matter is out of my hands."

"Konoe-dono, I am under the impression the funding for the class trip has already been accounted for and approved, not to mention the mountain worth of paperwork I just finished pulling my colleagues out from a few hours ago. So, I hope you are pulling my leg here."

"Now, now, I never stated you cannot go, but - it would be _problematic_."

"May I swear, sir, or will it be too much for your propriety?"

"Oh, go-"

"_**BULLOCKS**_!"

Verily, did the Headmaster's bushy eyebrows nearly leave the crown of his head from the mighty quake of air that rattled the shaking office.

"Erm," there was much else to be said, understandably

"**There**. I am calm, now," Negi cleared his throat, as his accent colored in that savvy characteristic way unique to himself.

It was also open advertisement of his rapt indignation. Granted, if it were anywhere else, the boy magister would not have lashed out so flamboyantly. Alas, the boors in this backwater country only seemed to react properly to outstanding displays of vehement power.

"So tell me, wot's this naffin' no-thing 'bout _problems_? And, no, I am naught fer goin' 'ny-where else. I have out-standing business to attend in Kyoto, get me, and the class trip is a good chance as any to take care of it. Be-sides, my class wants to go. ...Ye wouldn't want to disappoint them now, would ye? ...I think, I might hafta be very cross, if ye did."

"Springfield-kun, please, please, please! Peace, my young friend. Erm. Ho ho ho... Ugh. Look, I won't beat around the bush, as much as I _have to_ tolerate you, your service has been a boon to our academy."

"Ah, so ye find meh services wanting, do ye, ser~?" Negi's drawl thickened.

It was not a good sign, and the old sorcerer knew well enough to take the warning to heart. Konoemon had not lived to be this old by being ignorant of the obvious. Pursing his lips, he prepared to do his worst.

"How should I phrase this? _Ho_. Well, I suppose there's no helping it. ...Springfield-kun, allow me to be frank: my son-in-law is a man of action. In other words, he is a well-intentioned muscle-headed idiot, who's only saving grace in life is swinging a sword around and putting himself in harm's way. The boy's got his heart in the right place, but he's far from being the brightest tool in the shed, if you ask me. Oh, and by the way, he is the interim head of the Kyoto Magic Association. So~..."

"He's being a reactionary sodding git, is wot y'er tryin' to say?"

The feint worked? Oh, thank heavens!

"A manipulated fool, but a good fool all the same. His uncommon strength has its uses (otherwise, my beloved Torahime wouldn't given that upstart delinquent the time of day), and I admit his growing concern for my granddaughter's safety isn't entirely baseless."

"I despise man-children."

"Oh, come now, Professor Negi Springfield. That's your future father-in-"

Then, the boy professor cut in, planting a palm empathetically, on the bureau. His glasses alit with an eerie glow, and the smile that wore him was - the sort that likely could skin a man alive. Persons in the biological sciences tend to dub the procedure, "vivisection".

"...You hoary old fart."

"Oops. Ho ho ho ho!" The Dean scratched his beard sheepishly. "The cat's out of the bag now, is it?"

Ah, the bitter things The Doctor suffered for the sake of his eternally thankless patients.

"Feh. Get it over with, Konoe Konoemon-_dono_, and pray Takahata-sensei does not make a vapid appearance right now, because I. Will. Kick. Him. Out. The. DOOR."

Alas, speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

"Ah, Konoe-"

Except in this case, there was no profit to be had for the devil, as the worst of the two prime evils had already struck his claim over the space in question.

"Secret Thesis Number Forty-Seven: How many Jacks does to take to chuck Jacks like FIGHTING MAD Jack Churchill? _Observe_. _**COOMMAAAAAAANNNNDOOOO**_!"

"Ja-NGUOH!"

Poor Takamichi T. Takahata, for the second time in many months, got his socks blown out right from underneath him. Maybe he committed some great sin in his past life, which would be a perfectly legitimate reason for why they had sent a punishment like The Doctor upon him. One loafer clad foot planted itself into his gut, Spartan-like without an shred of remorse, and twisted, giving the frenzied devil dervish of a bespectacled runt from Wales enough leverage to flip upwards into a physics defying "flash kick". The fantastic blow hammered the legendary man, dubbed 'Death Glasses', straight to the chin, with an unpleasant snap of sinew.

Summarily, momentum taking care of the rest, Asuna Kagurazaka's idol was dismissed and ejected from the premise of the Headmaster's office, post-haste. Somehow, in his senselessly flailing state, Takahata managed to observe proper decorum even, closing the doors shut behind him, but it did not stop the question that begged to be asked from coming to mind..

Was Death Glass Takahata losing his touch, or wot?

Of course, such notions were the furthest things from Doctor N. Springfield's mind as he slaved away, like a man possessed, over a new mountain of paperwork some short days ago (or maybe 'twas hours ago?), aided only by his pride and an exponentially increasing pile of bottled green tea. Being the skilled dissembler he was, Negi's intuition had hit the nail right on the head, concerning the Dean's designs for him.

He knew he had asked many unreasonable things by all definitions of common sense (read: when applied to plebeians), such as Eva's parole among other things, during his tenure thus far. The sticking point, see, was that the old farts around these parts all clung to a certain mistaken impression. They deluded themselves into believing he was the son of a hero, an delusion that they had not rid themselves of, despite mounting "evidence" otherwise. Hence, the unreasonable was perfectly permissible, for Negi Springfield.

The Doctor reckoned he ought to give thanks to Lady Luck that his outrageousness only demanded a modest reparation, but being who he was, such "humble" kickbacks were the worst kind of sentence. The generous terms given to him were, thus:

1. A mountain of last minute paper work to be processed by him - alone.

2. The Kansai Magic Association in Kyoto were a bunch of paranoid xenophobic gits, so they only way the trip would be allowed if he went in the steed of an "Ambassador of Peace", carrying a letter to be the interim Director of the Association, Eishun Konoe. This letter must arrive intact and utterly unmolested, yes?

3. Also, he was to debrief the hardheaded man, personally, concerning the security situation. _Embellish_. The perimeter had been hit hard, some nights ago, but it had held. If necessary, he had permission to knock some sense into Eishun and prove the strength of the Kanto Magic Association, because the whole lot of them were uncivilized boors as far as Konoemon was concerned.

4. He had better make sure The Dark Evangel minded her parole, since officially, she was supposed to be quite dead and buried, like yesteryear's news.

5. Also, he was to escort Konoka to meet with her parents and, in effect, spend a day at her total beck and call (read: monopoly).

6. Last but not least, he should try NOT to a start an international incident in Kyoto.

The latter two directives agitated him, **badly**, considering Konoemon Konoe had made it clear that there were rogue disparate elements operating in Kansai Magic Association's territory, whom would give anything to doom his mission. Yes, Negi understood the principles of elegance that a savvy English gentleman like himself was much obliged to, but since he had come into this backwater country... Well, his blood pressure had been on the rise.

The mice did not realize that they had every right to fear the pied piper who had come to town. It baffled and frustrated him to no end that these boors could not appreciate the peril of their own imminent destruction! Since these people obviously did not have a stretch of class, the best thing The Doctor could do to educate them was to make a statement, and Konoemon Konoe wanted to divest him of that right?

_Che_, Coletrain better put his furry hide where his mouth is, by the time I arrive in Kyoto...or **else**, thought Negi, eying the dozing white serpent coiled in the corner with dark intent. He will have the privilege of experiencing first hand how many ways I have devised to skin a SNAKE.

Verily, the shady changeling informant had been oddly chipper to see him. Their exchange was business, explicitly, as The Doctor did his best to grill Augustus T. Coletrain for a few easy quids worth of information. See, Konoemon mentioned in passing of an unusual guerrilla raid that had decimated a fair number of his private security forces. The old sorcerer did not speak of their numbers, but the assorted black suits had almost lost control of the perimeter, an invisible line jokingly dubbed "The Gates of Mahora", against a handful of assailants. The latter disguised their exact count grudgingly well, so it could have been more than a handful - or a single individual.

Suffice to say, the changeling had jumped to the top of suspect list, with the grace of a hurricane, and more intriguing still, was his casual congratulations for "an evening well spent". He confessed quite merrily that he did not witness the battle of epic production values in full, but was pleased to hear all that began well, ended well enough. Negi expected Coletrain to be more - livid that his petite irascible benefactor had been beaten within an inch of her life. So astounded by the shady informant's casualness, he forgot to try baiting the slippery afro-clad ermine on the subject.

Theirs was not a relationship so neat and cuddly, as he first theorized, perhaps. Leaning back, the boy professor stretched, earning a nasty creak that could have been his aching body or the much abused chair.

"For conversation's sake, let it be known what I would give for some competent hands to work the knots out of my shoulders. Oh, woe is I that I have not one servant"

The teacher's staff room might appeared abandoned that day, lit only by a lazy, bleary-eyed sunset, but appearances were not everything. After all, The Doctor could perceive things that not even the state of the art instrumentation built into his A.R. glasses could detect, and on the contrary, there were things he could only see with the aid of those very spectacles. Glasses. No glasses. Love. Or without Love.

The truth, perhaps, could only be discerned through the amalgamation of multiple perspectives.

"M, M, M, MA~ster, _uuuu_!" Leviathan of Envy's tear-stained crimson eyes peered pitifully over the rim of his bureau.

And where one number of the Stakes Purgatory went, her equally naughty sister was not far behind, so did Mammon of Greed appear, peeking out from behind the tall stack of stamped papers. "_Ee_~, _tee hee hee_, g, good evening, _My Master_!"

To be frank, he had sensed his two wayward companions quite some time ago, courtesy of their _special _contract.

"Leviathan. Mammon. ...Where should **WE **start, I wonder?"

The Doctor had very, very good reasons to be vexed. The girls were top-class _Furniture_, daemonic homunculi forged by the hand of a legendary _Witch_. It was within their nature for mischief, but to be disloyalty was a different matter altogether. As the ruling stood, by all rights they had left him to be devoured whole by the owner of the illusory python-sized serpent dozing off across the way, and The Stakes better have a good explanation for that ignominious fiasco.

"P, p, please, Lord Springfield! H, have mer-cy, _uuu_! I-I, I, Leviathan of En-"

"And your precious, precocious Mammon of Greed, too!"

"HEY. No cutting in, stupid Monmon! If anyone's going to burn, it's going-"

"_Eeee_~-_iihahhahahahah_! Master, master! O Beloved Master, did you hear her? That's a bold admission of guilt, if I ever heard one, right there."

It seemed even with their very attractive back sides on the line, The Stakes would be The Stakes, turning a probable execution into an competition who was the last sister laughing.

"MA-mmon! Don't put your own dirty laundry in my mouth, when you were the first to cut and run."

"This coming from **the **ever useless Levia-_nee_sama who had to be dragged away crying, like a ba~by that **did **wet herself on the spot?"

"_UUuuuuu_! L, Lies! ALL LIES! I did not wet myself, and YOU. You're not one to talk. I saw it, y'know. That UN-sightly look-"

Had he been less busy and had more visits checked into Hypnos lovely suite of sleep, Doctor N. Springfield might have given an allowance for his nurses esoteric "family" sitcom routine. Alas, he did not have all day, nor a handy spell to process the next arduous pile of bureaucratic misery out the door.

"Be STILL, and OBEY: tell me WOT I ask, ye shabby imps!"

He rebuked them in a tone that brooked no trifle. Rarely used by choice, after all, The Doctor preferred the noisy, child-like exuberance of the sisters frolicking about and making mischief, which came naturally to them. Hence, the act of him raising his voice was effective as a smarting wound from a switch to the backside.

The Sisters of Purgatory abandoned their fight, and for a change, behaved in a manner befitting of their illustrious position: heads held high, and eyes in front, radiating cruel disdain.

"_Him_, Our Master," they spoke as one.

And The Doctor was not so clueless that he needed the subject matter to be spelled out to him, for he knew by heart of whom they spoke with ugly certainty. The truth vexed him, rightly so.

"...May I wish it all a lie?"

"Nay. A true successor has appeared at long last. One who has struggled against the great mystery of _The Witch's Epithet_."

"Terrific. Now, I can add grave robber to that sad sack of ass' repertoire of despicableness. Damn, fake."

"Our Master, that apparition was no stand-in, some cheap charlatan, a _piece_ to be discarded at first light. Nay, 'twould be folly to think of him as such. ...And if we had appeared before him, it would have meant your near certain death."

Negi snorted dryly.

"We are bound by a higher imperative," Mammon shrugged, a vile smile alight on her lips, "to obey the successor, one who is suitable to wear the One-Winged Eagle!"

The truth sucked, not that he expected any of it to be good news in the first place.

"And you have no such qualification," Leviathan cocked her hip snidely aside, leveling a manicured crimson nail at him like a loaded gun, "though you succeeded in reviving us, it does not change what we were meant to do, _Lord _Springfield."

The boy magister had his own ire to share, "Oh, I know all about it: to serve the luckless _Witch _or _Sorcerer _who has inherited the title of Endless! But if that is the case, pray tell why you did not betray me in cold blood and get it over with?"

The Stakes shared a dark look, an impish smile mirrored on their cruelly beautiful faces, hands placed towards one another as if separated by a pane of glass. Yes, their actions mimicking each other in, quite frankly, mind blowing harmony.

"There is still time. Neji T. Silverberg has not solved The Witch's Epithet, _yet_. But who can say what will happen when your paths cross again? The answer, you can only decide for yourself, Negi Springfield."

The Doctor never dreamed he would ever seen those two habitually squabbling siblings act in fashion of the same mind and body.

"Oh, and will that be all, my girls? _Che_. What a waste of time. Instead of tiring me out with your pitiful impotence, it would have been fine to grovel on your knees and tell me that I can only accomplish what is within my own power. Why, to rely on a pair of sycophantic, narcissistic laughingstocks is tantamount to suicide by disappointment, no?"

A pinch of drawling sarcasm, and just like that, the bizarre synchronicity event ended, with Mammon letting loose a girlish squeal, as she launched herself across the way gaily in a sweeping fly tackle.

"_Kyaaaaaaa_~, that's just so like you, Ma-"

The bounciful humanoid missile's trajectory, for better or worse, was guided elsewhere by the Arbitrator of Envy. A hand wrapped around the airborne brunette's ankle in an ominously cold vice grip, Leviathan, with frightening glee, slammed her younger sister's face first into the bureau, hard. The ugly impact reverberated through the staffroom, sending The Doctor's papers showering up into the air.

Poor Mammon never stood a chance. She was out like a light, as her limp moaning carcass crumpled uselessly to the floor. Such a brutal display of sibling affection, however, earned no scandalized rebuke from their master. Negi, in fact, gave his appreciative approval, ignoring the sore grievance of having his work space interrupted.

"Very nice, Levia; very nice. Although I cannot help shake this feeling of déjà vu that somewhere or some when, your precocious little sister fell for the same trick. Foolish child, she ought to know better than to trust you with her back, when the matter does not concern - _business_."

"_Eeeee_~, Mas~ter Springfield!" flushed the green-haired homunculus, while subconsciously throwing her younger sister right over her shoulder like yesterday's trash. "Levia did good, didn't she?"

Suffice to say, he could help but feel a pang of sympathy for Mammon, ever greedy to monopolize his time that she was, when her concussed form landed, splaying out in another unceremonious heap of spastically twitching flesh. The Doctor would bet good money that she would be feeling a helluva splitting headache by the time she woke up. Heh. Shame, he would be missing out on the fireworks afterward, thanks to his busy schedule.

...But it was not as if there was any harm in hearing the grisly details later, no?

"That you did. Now, do behave and play nice with your sister; I am _rather _occupied, if you have not cared to notice."

"_Tee hee hee_, that's too bad, My Master, because your Levia, y'know, just has this sensational you're about to get some, _mmm_, enviable company, _kihihihihi_!"

Then, an explosion of glittering gold occurred, just like confetti, signaling that all was well and not well once again in the nefarious union of Doctor N. Springfield, indivisible under himself.

"A, _anou_, S-Springfield-_sensei_?" an unbearably mousy voice skittered into his domain.

Having a powwow to reconcile the truth of certain matters with the Sisters of Purgatory had been on schedule since he awoke from his ordeal, and he would not be ashamed to admit that they had been his first concern. They were artifacts of absurd value, exclusive invitations to a fantastic mystery that he could barely contain his desire to unravel! The devilish promises of power that lay at the end of the road mattered not to him, for The Doctor was a tortured creature, forever embattled with boredom.

He cared little how the sources of his amusement should arise. Cat box's existed to be opened, and where detectives went, intrigue and adventure would not be long in being discovered; that alone made him a fan of mysteries!

Nodoka Miyazaki, on the other hand, was just - **boring**.

"How rare of you to visit me, Miyazaki-kun," nevertheless, The Doctor offered her the ascent of his chin to enter this abode. After all, he was obligated to suffer her unwanted intrusion with fairness and dignity, "And visit me you do at an unusual hour, so I see... Might I ask what brings you here?"

The skittish indigo-haired girl trembled at his voice, muttering a string of gibberish modesty and sentimental what-have-you's that he only lent half an ear to, as they were rather amateurish lies. Negi was preoccupied by the other diversion in the staff room.

"S, so, um, to show our appreciation I, _etou_, I mean, we-"

The white serpent was awake. In fact, its paired set of eyelids had flickered upon the moment she had set foot in the room, following Miyazaki's movements with _unnatural _interest.

So, The Doctor stepped out from behind his desk, under the pretense of gathering his scattered papers that lay strewn about the floor.

"Ah, l, let me help, _sen-"_

Though he assured her in his ever savvy way, like an artist absorbed in every stroke that went into his glowing masterpiece, Negi would not have faulted the librarian girl for taking offense to his deceptively curt reply.

"You may set your thermos aside, Miyazaki-kun. My thanks. I shall not be long in returning it to you. I am a rather avid drinker of teas that I am."

"A-_anou_..." Nodoka, being the timid child she was, could not keep pace with him, understandably.

But that was acceptable, too; better she did not know that the white serpent had risen out of its coils and was slithering its way over to her, as they spoke.

"Besides, if you have something to ask of me... Hm, what would be appropriate for a child with blood of the east, I wonder?"

"Ex, excuse me? I don't follow-"

"Ah, I know. It should be: '_No guts, no glory_.' Savvy?"

"Hweehhh!" Nodoka turned green.

"Oh, my apologies. Mayhap, it is as you say, after all; I have been working a wee bit hard as of late. To think I would butcher some _kanji_... _Heh_. How could I possibly call myself an educated man? Oh, the inhumanity!"

Again, he only favored Nodoka Miyazaki's rosy reaction out of the corner of his eye. The rustle of scales had ceased. See, what mattered was Silverberg's gift to him; the serpent in white had stopped just at the edge of the unwitting girl's shadow. It "blinked" at him, as if it to say...

"Your move, _Doctor_."

Was that a threat of checkmate? Negi's palms tingled, agitatedly.

"N, no, Springfield-_sensei_! It's not like that at all," Nodoka assured him hurriedly, hoping to salvage what she perceived to be a deteriorating situation. "Um, we're all entitled to our mistakes, probably, I think. Um..."

"You are not very proficient at this, are you, Miyazaki-kun?"

"Hwehhh! I. H, huh?"

"Understood. Then, allow me the first step: your hair - you changed it a bit, did you not? A small first step, hnn?"

If she knew red before, now Nodoka Miyazaki displayed a shade of color worthy of wine, all the while trembling from head to toe.

"Miyazaki-kun?"

Nodoka Miyazaki has been set to vibrate. Please, wait.

"Miyazaki Nodoka-san?" he tried again, mindful to keep some distance as he waved a hand in front of her relative line of sight.

The white serpent hissed, and like a starting signal, the indigo-haired librarian sprang to life (re: wait, why did he think of her as a librarian anyways? Had he forgotten something? _Hm_. How curious...).

"Hwawawawha! S, Spring-field, _sen_-_sei_."

"Oh, was that not what you wished to hear? Why, if my ears do not deceive me, I think, those two spiritual fairy godmothers outside our doors are dancing a jig in celebration for you. Right, Number Fourteen, Saotome Haruna-san? And you as well, Number Four, Ayase Yue-san? Please, do be courteous and leave us be, in private."

The harried scuttle of receding footsteps was good an admission of guilt as any, and Nodoka reddened even more, if that were possible.

"Hmph. There goes the peanut gallery," Negi scoffed, shaking his head in mild disappointment. "Shame. I had a few choice words to spell out to them, too."

"S, _sensei_..._uuuu_."

"Fear not, I doubt they meant any harm by pushing, **ahem**, _encouraging _you out of your nest, and if they did, then you need better friends, Miyazaki-kun."

"I, _iie_! Th, they didn't mean anything bad," she defended her friends as best as she could, which was not very well at all. "H, honest! I, we, um... Well..."

If they were a less harmless bunch, he might have to recommend a therapy regimen for them. "I shall take your word for it. On the other hand, I admit I was a touch curious, once upon a time, why a growing young girl like you would hide her good looks behind a shabby curtain of hair. True, if you did not want other people to notice you, then by Jove, those bangs served their purpose. I, certainly, took it as a sign that you did not want to be bothered with, and considering your stellar academic performance and relative happiness, there was no reason to interfere. Correct?"

Now, the habitual wallflower girl looked positively crushed at that bold statement of his unabashed observation.

"_Uu_-! Sen... Spring, field, _sensei_..._uuu_."

The Doctor might have felt some pity for the blubbering girl had his seemingly brazen words not been justified. To realize the true breadth of one's illness, a proper diagnosis had to be made by the healthcare provider in question, and then acknowledged by the former party. Otherwise, the whole process would amount to no more than a big fat waste of time (and labor)!

"Ah ha ha ha, at least, that was one educated hypothesis I had made. Truly, what I thought was that you were just, well, shy. But, let us be serious here, Miyazaki-kun, and listen well, you ought to: if you do not want others to misunderstand, you must speak for yourself. Appearances might not be everything, but words and actions do say a lot about one's true character. The onus lies in you to be the person you want to be, understand?"

"Now, then, is there anything else I can do for you? Any questions I might answer?"

"A, _anou_, _sensei_, wh, wha, !"

"I beg your pardon?"

The white serpent, then, coiled up, as if in anticipation...

"I, I. Um. S, sorry! To bother you, please, EX, EXCUSE ME!"

...but The Doctor was faster still, having thought many steps ahead through the proper application of game theory.

"No. I heard you quite right the first time, and I can safely say: all of you are out of your league, if you think you have a chance with a Capturing Demon-God like me. We are only available on the New Game Plus mode, tuned to the Godhard difficulty setting. Oh, and did I forget to mention the capturing requirements for the route are nothing short of absurd?"

He sealed Miyazaki's retreat with no more than one finger, pressed to her feverish brow beneath that curtain of hair. While she was distracted by the cool, searing sensation of his touch, he was far from idle, his other hand moving to snatch the pouncing serpent in white out of the air.

"On the other hand, I can tell you exactly what kind of fellow you need. He might not be what you want, but, _ah_, like what The Stones say, '_you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might find... You get what you need_.' Nodoka Miyazaki-san, you desire a prince on a white horse, your knight in shining armor from a lovestruck girl's fantasy. Quite frankly, I would be annoyed to the extreme, if you managed to find one, and possibly sick to my stomach from the ensuing lovey-dovey, hum drum, lolly gagging antics that lot of you would pull us civilized single people into, like a black hole of depression."

Quicker than some snappy fellow could recite an appropriately badass catchphrase, Negi snuck the thrashing reptile away behind his back, taking another step firmly forwards to ensure that the speechless librarian had only eyes for him, and he alone.

"Why just the thought of it makes my skin WRITHE. Both of you, lovestruck fools, **ugh**, who do not the first thing of what to do about each other!"

The Doctor pinched down to force the wretched creature's jaws open, mercilessly, ignoring its vain protests, as venom dripped onto the bare floor, leaving an acrid hiss of corrosive acid. His smile widened, and his eyes narrowed into such simperingly harmless slits(?), an expression quite common to foxes, at least in the collective Japanese mind set, anyhow.

"On the other hand, what you need is an old weather beaten detective, in my not so humble opinion. Yes, he would be an ornery man, but a hound who has not forgotten first and foremost what is important above all in any mystery: not the whodunnit, or howdunnit, but the heart. A jaded person like that, I am certain, can truly appreciate the answers you would unravel together, and of course, the greatest mystery of all, yourself."

He removed his finger, and like a switch, the bated breath little Miss Nodoka Miyazaki had been holding without her conscious knowledge was released, along with all the strength in her legs.

"Oopsie daisy there! Did I do that? My, my, my..."

Naturally, being the savvy "English gentleman" he was, Doctor N. Springfield took action, catching the swooning waif in his arms, but not before disposing of unwanted company. The abused serpent hurtled through the air, end over end, twisting and turning, before smashing against the far wall to a loud, wrenching rapport exclusive for his ears only. Limp, it fell next, only to be devoured by the dancing shadows.

"And I do hope," Negi cupped the feverish girl's chin betwixt his clinical fingers, "you fail to end up with some uncultured louse, because if you succeeded, I as your teacher would be obligated...to **kill **him, before _**disciplining **_your lack of judgment. Do you follow me, Miyazaki-kun?"

And so, the curtains were drawn on that scene, happily enough. Nodoka fainted dead away on the spot, presumably from being in such close quarters with the object of her idolatry. ...As if he could ever miss the obvious intent behind her naive, yet so painfully pure words! Too pure. It blinded him, made his eye itch and water.

BORING.

Negi wanted no part of it, and he went on his merry way, carrying on as if nothing had happened - well, after dropping her svelte carcass off at the nurse's office, that is. Tsk, tsk! These girls were such busy bees, easily drawn to the scent of honey...

Why, some days, The Doctor wondered, if it was too easy? On one hand, He was not without charm that much his many mentors would vouch for, over their graves, but even in his practical experience, the boy magister had never been so wildly successful, until his incarceration here at Mahora Academy.

Could there be some other force at work here? Well, whatever the cause might be, he doubted its discovery would earn him any praise. If anything, Negi could guarantee he would be reviled and admired more, for all the wrong reasons.

Indeed, there was a lot of the former feeling staining the atmosphere black from a number of sources, some directed at him, and the rest directed at others. Then again, ill omens and dark thunderheads were always more to his liking than another lazy day in the sun. The reason why he stood on such a dreadful stage, scorched by flame and smoke, was also quite simple.

The casting arrangement of Class 3-A's group assignments for the field trip were as follows (not including a small number of miscellaneous supporting staff):

Group 4, "The Wolves in White", starred Ayaka "Howl" Yukihiro, Kazumi "Whiskers" Asakura, Chisame "Fangs" Hasegawa, and assorted she-wolves in sheep's clothing. The alpha, as expected, was Miss Yukihiro by virtue of her reputation, and no one having the guts to test her dominance of the wolf pack.

Group 3, "The Little Busters", starred the world's most adorable poison pink polka dot chihuahua, Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova, and her charges, Miss Ex-Delinquent Asuna Kagurazaka, Miss Not-so-Innocent-probably Konoka Konoe, and the rest of the happy-go-lucky entourage. Group's 3 captain, by popular vote? Anastasia. Why? Because no else amongst those carefree lackadaisical fellows wanted to take charge.

Group 2, "Type-BOSS", starred Her Majesty's unbelievably cute puss in boots, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, and The Stakes!

At the time, The Doctor managed to resist the temptation to laugh at the irony, just barely, as Shizuna Minamoto tried to calm down the wild bunch in her characteristically maternal fashion. Heh heh he he he! His little prissy familiar, still, had no idea how darkly and marvelous the world he belonged to, truly, was. True, Students Numbers Two, Five, Six, Seven, Eleven, Sixteen, and Seventeen were merely metaphorical place holders for the genuine article, but to see the former Dark Mistress frolicking with her new servants, made him glow with the amusement of an ancient master watching over his still young and innocent pupil.

Suffice to say, the ring leader of this mad midnight carnival needed no introduction. Though in the interest of fairness, the other group were bemusing in some way, filled with many possibilities. Why, they made the main course seem dreadfully simple in comparison!

Group 1, "M.D.", starred Lingshen Chao, Setsuna Sakurazaki, Kuu Fei, Mana Tatsumiya, Kaede Nagase, Narutaki Twins, and last but not least, himself, Doctor N. Springfield.

Why the groups of eight? Why the number "8" at all? Well, it was a battle plan, crafted with the assistance of his new pet and furniture, of course! Indeed, the lovely Kommisar Anya and his rebellious intern, Sakurazaki, had played no party whatsoever in its creation. Any oaf with an understanding of battle tactics would understand the guile behind this formation, and if they did not, well, the only clue he would give them that the "M.D." in his group did not denote a doctorate degree from a medical institution.

Oh yes, this trip was going to be helluva lot of fun! Eh he he he... _IIHIHIIHI_-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!

There, in his little path of solitude amidst the gathering storm, The Doctor allowed himself a vain smile in anticipation of what was to come. His thoughts lit ablaze with wild emotion.

_Come_. Come, if you dare, Silverberg. My castle is prepared. The pieces set. All the game board requires now is - The Players. So, come! There is no way you will resist my letter of challenge, right?

Ah... Ahhhhhh! The Doctor could not wait to see the exquisitely anguished look on The Advocate's twisted face. _III_-_HIYA~_HAHAHAHAH! It took more than just a seat at the Witch's tea party to become a true "Witch", and Negi Springfield swore on his pride as a wizard that he would prove his wisdom true with this game!

"_Sen_~-_sei_," a sweet voice cooed in his ear. "What are you smiling for, I W-O-N-D-E-R? _Tee hee hee_."

The boy professor woke from his reverie, as if in a cold sweat. Pupils wide, his eyes darted like lightning, searching, assessing for a threat, only to find the most bothersome situation.

"Konoe Konoka...san."

He was seated in the bullet train by the window seat. Under normal circumstance, the mundane person would not have cared a lick of difference about the situation, but Negi was the furthest thing from "average".

"_No~_, _no~_, _no_~, that won't do at all, _sensei_," Konoka wiggled a finger at him, as if she were a schoolteacher admonishing naughty child. "Don't you remember our arrangement?"

Doctor N. Springfield pushed up his glasses. To think he had forgotten all the preparations for his slumber because he had gotten caught up in the moment, so to speak...

"And what might you be doing here-"

"Wrong, wrong, wrong; that's not it. Ah, how did it go again? Hmmm. How about... _Un_, _deux_, _trios_? _Tee hee hee_."

He saw her, but he was not looking **at **her. Red eyes and flicking tongue leered out from behind the simpering thorn that ensconced itself into his hide, unawares of the dangers that enveloped him from within and without.

"Konoe-_chan_, since when did you escape from your minders, and slipped right through my entourage no less? ...You realize, some people might be rather furious to see you in that emptied seat."

"_Kyaa_~, just like my reading this morning; my sign is lucky today! _Tee hee hee_, so, you did remember, Springfield-kun. If you hadn't, well, I would've been very sad, and lonely, you know this, don't you?"

"How very troubling; my deepest regrets, Konoe-chan, and... Ah... I suppose, I ought to have read my own horoscope this morning. Forgive me?"

It was strange. The other passengers raising a rowdy ruckus had not noticed their proximity at all. Why? A prime scene like this would be much too juicy for the overly imaginative girls of Class 3-A to resist; indeed, it would have been the same as tempting a starving man with his choice of steak.

"_Jiiiiiiii_..."

"Konoe-chan, it is not polite to stare, and need I remind you that we **are **in public?"

"Oh, you are such a worrywart, Springfield-kun!" Konoka huffed at him, puffing up her cheeks petulantly. "This is my indoor voice, see?"

Negi raised a brow. "My goodness, _girl_, I am available every day in class, and I reckon, it was just the other day that you stole me away on my way to buy Kagurazaka-kun's birthday present."

"_Mou_, _sen_-_sei_, you weren't even **there **with me, because you were so exhausted."

"...I beg your pardon?"

"Don't you remember? It was terrible! You were like one of those, _um_, zombies, except more wooden, smelled fresh, handsome, and out of it. I was really, really disappointed! Here I thought you, the hero should be spiriting me away, but the heroine had to do the spiriting away herself. How terrible!"

The white serpent flicked its tongue at him, and The Doctor felt the tightness about his shoulders wind up another notch, his palms tingling coldly. He _liked _to watch, did he now?

"...I apologize, if you were dissatisfied."

"Disappointed, _not _dissatisfied, Springfield-kun," Konoka giggled, tapping him lightly on the nose.

Why did he not remember any of what she spoke of? Surely, the bespectacled boy genius would have recalled such a monumentally bothersome event, would he not?

"Apologies, but I think-"

"What I think - is that this calls for a punishment game~!"

The Doctor made a face. As he thought, having the Konoe princess around was distracting him, and more importantly, why had the serpent not made its move yet?

"Konoe-_san_, I do believe your boredom has impaired your better judgment. If you are tired, I would recommend using our brief transit for a nap."

"No way, not until I've put you to bed, _Mister_ Zombie Prince!" Konoka held up her finger in that same admonishing manner, again.

"And how do you plan to do that when we are where we are?"

It should have been the end of this innocent game, and the bubble of clemency around them should have collapsed, allowing the seething tendrils of madness beyond to reclaim them into the fold.

"How about? Three, two, one: _c'est super tres bien_! O Fatigue, fly away~! (_Tee hee hee_, just kidding, really!)"

The Konoe clan's princess might have been playing, but the result caught him just the same by ugly surprise. Wandless _magick_ was not unheard of, considering he was capable of the feat himself. Nevertheless, to experience the fact first hand from an amateur without any formal schooling was a shocking experience for the savvy English gentleman. He only had enough time to recognize the faint blue radiation playing about Konoka's fingertips, before things went very, very _wrong_.

It was not a bad feeling per say. Why, the tingling ache in his palms was ebbing away, actually, as if he were melting into a fine mist.

**No**. NO. _Nonononononono_! Focus, dammit! I... I've obvious-ly blun-dered, ag-ain. Rgh...nnggh? Was this wha...t Happened... Th..at ...ti-me...too?

Alas, struggle mightily he might, Professor Negi Springfield was far from being "Abnormal". Down, and down, he fell, descending into the cool, murky depths of hallowed waters nearest to death: _**sleep**_.

* * *

The Wheel of Fate is turning...

* * *

Production Notes:

Seasons greetings and Happy New Year! Oh, and better late than never, right?

Good grief, if you all are disappointed with this chapter, don't worry you're not alone. I, too, am disappointed by the turn out, not because it's bad. Kinda hard to argue with 11,000 words worth of content, y'know? No. My disappointment comes from the fact that I am STILL overly ambitious in my scope; hence, my belated arrival, two weeks late after my hopeful delivery date.

This is supposed to be a bi-weekly production, now, not a MONTHLY!

I got principles, fellas! I gotta stick to 'em, or there's no meaning in setting 'em down.

You wanna know how many scenes I imagined initially for this episode? Five. How many scenes do we have finally? ...Well, I think I lost track somewhere along the way, instead I was just kind following my own mental outline of the topics that needed covering. Hrrnnnn. I need to work on find that happy zone somehow where I cover enough material but still get things done in a reasonable amount of time, but then I feel bad if nothing happens at all in a chapter! Ugh. Catch-22?

But what did actually happen here? Well, A LOT OF THINGS. New rivalries, new relations, new subquests, etc. The Butterfly Effect be kicking in, yo. Yeah, I admit I'm not a big fan of Nodoka, but hey, she's gonna get her time in the limelight, even if it is kinda chronologically out of order. Heh. Oh, and if anyone's curious how Miss Lingshen Chao be lookin' in Dr.-O-Vision, pretty much, I am homaging (read: hijacking) Wang Liu-Mei's China Girl look from Season 1 of Gundam 00. DAT RED BACKLESS Cheongsam COCKTAIL DRESS that she wore to the party in episode 1, which kinda recurs here and there, is just too HAWT, criminally so. How convenient Chao can fill it pretty well herself, huh? NYEH-hehehehehe!

Anyways, despite the issues I am still grappling with, I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Mad props to all you readers and the hard charging reviewers who have tuned in. Remember, without you, there is no point to this project, so by all means, continue to motivate me so I can continue to motivate you all. Speak up, and make yourself heard!

See ya at the next gig where things get curious-ER.

Peace.


	25. Chapter 25

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required.

* * *

Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm

Chapter 25:

T'was Her First Kiss

An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

Doctor N. Springfield woke. It was not with a whoop of mad joy, a cry of indignation, nor a hiss of seething repugnance that befitted his imagine. He awakened in perfect stillness, as if newly risen from the land of the dead, and uttered aloud in an eerily clinical tone of voice, precise enough to excise the ears from a living man at a hundred meters away, fleeing with every fiber in his terrified being.

"Anastasia, how long was I away?"

Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova shuddered, despite the benefit of her sitting outside of the blast radius.

"Giy...! T, two hours, s, Springfield."

Times like this reminded her that her employer was a most dangerous man, and by the hand of the worst luck imaginable, it was her mission to bring him down, should the opportunity arise, before something truly, irrevocably heinous happened. Also, Anya swore was not shaking because he had scared her or any nonsense along those lines, and for the record, how the hell had he even known she was here, right beside him the first place?

"And to answer your nagging question, dearest: _perfume_. It suits you, by the way. A little honey with a pinch of balsamic vinegar."

Then again, considering her chronic misfortune, the opportunity to make good on her ambition might come much sooner than expected.

"_Cousin_, just so you **know**, I really. REALLY. don't see what the rest of Three-A sees in you. They might cry, but I won't blink an eye when I see you hang from the gallows, by your rotting guts."

"Oh, my dear Anastasia, if you would only expend as much effort towards the (in)glorious pursuit of bettering yourself, I figure I may _just _recognize you as something passably _**girl~y **_some day."

"WHAT ABOUT ME ISN'T-!"

Her explosive wrath was cut short by The Doctor nosing into her business, quite literally, their foreheads touching, forcing her to meet his accursedly clever eyes.

"Peace, my beloved cousin," he smiled. "I have faith you have cast a discreet silencing charm, but even _that _has its limits, no?"

Try as she might, the magistra magi found herself unable to resist the girlish act of flushing at such close quarters.

"Nngrrghhh... Springfield. You~!"

"Besides, should you not be lording over the fact a complete amateur bested me not once, but twice?"

"T, Twice?"

"Coincidentally, I also feel refreshed; proof that her magick is not just for show. ...You watched, did you not?"

"Only by fluke I caught it. I only pray no one else saw...but, hey! Stop changing the subject, and...ooooohhh! What's this funny business about her casting magick twice?"

"Ah, 'twas the best dose of pixie dust I had the unbelievable luck of partaking in all week, methinks. _Fu fu fu fu_,what a bothersome waste of potential, do you not think so, too?"

"I. Just. SAID," Anastasia repeated, emphasizing each word by rapping his chest with a knuckle clenched fist.

"Ah ha ha ha! Easy there. I forgot myself until now. Ah, yes, I see it clearer now. It was around the time I went out to buy Kagurazaka her birthday present. ...The rest of the tale I am afraid, I am not at liberty to disclose; Gentleman's code, you understand?"

"You? Forget yourself? _Pah_. Over your own damn grave maybe, and what if that simpering princess had screwed up the spell and put you into a coma, huh? Did you Ever give an iota of thought to that, you-!"

"Actually, she modified my memories just a tiny bit the first time," Negi added, still wearing a proud know-it-all smile. "Unintentionally, I would hope. Beginner's luck, perhaps?"

At that point, Anastasia reasoned the proposition of headbutting the impudent bourgeoisie dead on might be worth the cost of her own sanity. "Spring-FIELD. I'm. Going. To. PUT. MY. HANDS. ON YOU~!"

"Oh, heavens, if you must insist on assaulting my lips most hatefully, please, do so at your _guilty _pleasure."

Lo, and behold, did Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova flush a fascinating shade of red that matched her hair.

"But, before I allow myself to be stolen away for the umpteenth time," The Doctor wriggled his brows suggestively, "might you do me the honor of briefing me on what mischief has transpired, here in our cabin while I was, regretfully, indisposed?"

"N, n, n, NN, N-NOTHING OF the sort H, Ha, ha, HAPPENED!"

"My dear, I never suggested YOU had done something, but given your implicit confession, this might be grounds for, good heavens, statutory-"

"UWwaaaaaaaaaghhhhhhhhh!"

The faint, stinging imprint on his cheek, suffice to say, was condemning evidence he might have jammed on poor Anya's buttons a little too roughly. An amateur's mistake? Maybe. Then again, Negi reckoned he had been going awful soft on pouring his affections to his dear poison pink polka dot chihuaha. Yes. She must be - abashed, hmm?

Although, he confessed to himself, closing his eyes to message his temples in silent trepidation, I would prefer she had the decency to leave the blanket of privacy behind, rather than taking it with her. It is only common sense, right?

"Ribbit," a certain creature croaked its apparent agreement at his exact thoughts.

The Doctor nodded, appreciative that even... Wait a minute!

"Guildenstern, doth my open eyes deceiveth me, or do I espy thou ist a specimen of species, _Hyla japonica_, more commonly known as the Japanese tree frog?"

The tentatively dubbed, Guildenstern had the gall to raise a webbed paw, appropriately so, from his squatting spot on the headrest across from the seated boy professor. It was as if the illusory little amphibian thought of him (or her) as a human student already.

"Ribbit!"

Doctor N. Springfield sprung a nerve, his brow twitching in agitated cynicism. He knew he was crazy already, what with seeing imaginary things exclusive only to his own brand of insanity, but...

"C'mere, YOU!"

Then, much to his macabre disappointment, the damnable frog exploded in his knuckle clenched fist, showering him in a puff of smoke. He would have enjoyed performing an impromptu vivisection, but the colorless **and **scentless smoke tripped red flags in The Doctor's mind, as his A.R. glasses detected the sudden, subtle expenditure of arcane energies. Upon releasing his fist, the evidence of his paranoia became reality, if the screaming choir of feminine what-have-you's was not enough.

"My, oh my, they have arrived sooner than I have expected," Negi muttered beneath his breath, stepping out into the aisle to survey the chaos unfolding around him.

And lo did "Chaos" greet him, gleefully, by attaching a pair of hyper-lethal Chinese exchange students to his flanks with the force of a limpet mine times two.

"_Ai~yaaaaa_, Springfield-_sifu_, Springfield-_sifu_!"

Gallantly, The Doctor fought back the primal urge to howl in agony, as several some things inside his guts proceeded to tear themselves open like overripe bulbous protrusions of puss from the two hyperactive velocities T-boning him, for the lack of better imagery. Ah, the painful indignities he had to suffer for the sake of patients' welfare!

"...OH, ho! Well, hello there, girls. Might I ask what manner of prank-"

"Girls, what's going-UGYAH!" the ever bounciful Shizuna Minamoto interjected with a choked mouthful, upon making her oh-so-easy-on-the-eyes presence known in the churning cabin full of chirping frogs and mewling junior-high girls.

Well... So much for his hopes of having some additional firepower land in his lap to put out the fire, thought Neji drolly as he watched the lovely Miss Minamoto go down, ambushed by an opportunistic little amphibian who had pasted himself firmly upon her heaving bosom. Still, the eye candy was very much appreciated. Now, if there was something he could do to switch places with the little bugger and not look villainous himself...

_Bah_. That Takahata. He did not deserve even the time of day from her. As for The Doctor, well, he had better divest himself of these two limpet mines bleeding the life out of him, before he passed out and lost out on opportunity for good.

"Oh dear, do excuse me, girls, but I think I must go yonder to perform my calling in life."

"B, but, b-b-but, _si_~_fu_!" pouted the co-captains of the Chinese Martial Arts Club in terrifying synchronization, a sure sign of individuals who were _quite _familiar with each other.

Who knew talking through fists was possible, huh?

"I would ask your forgiveness, but as the flames of youth are not settled so easily by mere words, let it be known I will award the two of you a rare boon at some point during this trip. Keep it exclusive to yourselves, will you not, dears? After all...finders keepers, sav~vy?"

"Ahhh, _sifu_!"

"Now, away I go. AVAST!"

Extricating his savvy personage from their longing paws, Negi waded into the fray, with a poise born seemingly from years of experience.

"Girls, please, be at E-A-S-E. Everything is under control here, I promise!"

Never mind the fact he was fighting back a debilitating wave of nausea that made his vision swim, and his sense balance waver, making him perform an excellent impression of a possibly inebriated pirate walking on the deck of a rocking ship. Oh no, to the best of their knowledge, Negi swaggered his way down the aisle to the lascivious whimpering Shizuna Minamoto, waving soothing assurances hither and thither, as if the path was made just for him. Why, yes, he OWNED it!

But, really... The present was a mere demonstration of a particularly honed skill of his, namely not disclosing the fact that he only had half a clue about what was happening, while appearing calm and in control of a deteriorating quagmire. Naturally, Negi intended to rectify his ignorance at once by proving his hypothesis correct, and to do that he needed information.

My dar~ling pet, what goes on here! his word echoed aloud in his "shared" thoughts, a channel of pure communication separate and exclusive only to himself and one other participant.

Look. _Look_. LOOK! Spring~field, echoed Evangeline A.K. MacDowell's scathing cackle. It's ma~gic! DUH~! ...You nincom-

I asked for an explanation, not a statement of the obvious. Miss OBVIOUSLY constipated (or not)...

S_PRRR_~ING-_FIELD_!

The Doctor ignored the excruciating clamor of his dear puss in boots, like broken glass being drawn across a chalk board, by rendering assistance to his bounciful colleague, and committing to memory the silken texture of her soft, manicured hands. Ah, what a shame he was not older, a wee bit more handsome. Miss Minamoto, how wasted she was on an impotent cad like Takahata, who did not know the first thing about initiative, much less what to do with a woman.

"Th, thank you, Negi-kun," whispered Shizuna breathlessly, as she squirmed with an adorable self-consciousness.

He allowed her slip in professionalism on the grounds that she looked too good to torment any further. If the boy professor were to indulge, he feared he might never kick his new sweet tooth.

"Why, thank you, for showing when you did, Minamoto-san. Would you care to join me in caroling my somewhat rowdy students into a semblance of civility?"

In their not always mutual understanding, Evangeline favored him a harsh, derisive snort at his "antics". He had no doubts that it pained her greatly to see all manner of females fall for his charms, which she would dispute to the death.

_Feh_. What a pitiful woman.

_Iihihihihi_. Oh, be~have, my pet. There will be time for games later, I promise, but first, to our business at hand, shall we? See. I wondered if this might be a diversion, hmm?

If it is, this charade is not even worthy of my top ten hotlist of the most infantile and annoying charades I have been forced to make lemons with.

Negi discovered himself having to give pause for a moment's notice.

Errmm. ...Lemons?

And what about lemons? the former Dark Mistress, clearly, did not have a clue how her commentary could be misconstrued for an entirely scandalous reasons.

Ah. ...Ah, aha hahahha, it was just that I felt terribly parched for a moment there. Some hard lemonade, I admit, would be a much more desirable waste of time than our present predicament. Ahem! By the way, you do have a firm grasp over our principals, yes?

_Hmph_. A matter for child's play, Spring~field; I can jump that bungling pair of fools into the shadows before they can bother to scream.

Excellent, my dearest puss! I do love it, when...

Though a young man of many talents, let it be known that Doctor N. Springfield was not exempt from the grand folly of overestimating his own competence. Admirably, he kept the conversations in where they belonged: the naughty one in his head internal, and his professional one, external. They ought to be separate and not equal, depriving him thus of the luxury to be lazy, as he attempted to calm down his rowdy girls and convince them into "appreciating" the curious infestation of little amphibians in their cabin, with discriminating _prejudice _in mind.

Of course, Negi did not want them exterminated. The pointless massacre of relatively harmless creatures would ruin his magnanimous image. Therefore, the little green buggers needed to be caught for their own good, so they could be returned to the wild safe and sound.

Suffice to say, his very, very old friend, Murphy Law, had been waiting a long time for this day. He had been neglecting the good professor, and Negi was in dire need of some humble pie, yes? Oh, very yes! So who better to be Murphy's agent than the illustrious Asuna Kagurazaka charging full tilt into the aisle, screaming bloody murder that she had just acquired an extra passenger inside her shirt?

"OHMYGAWD!OHMYGAWD!OHMYGAWD!"

With his intense concentration divided, the results were not pretty, as the bell clad girl bowled him over in a mess of entangled limbs and vertigo. Per demand of his image, Negi would not have minded a bit of injury terribly, considering his physical condition hovered already somewhere in the territory of - "Oh, I am eroding on a metaphysical level and bleeding my insides out right now. Thanks!" Yes, by wrote of the script, he would have shrugged his shoulders, loosed a long suffering sigh, and let her off with a little reprimand.

Alas, the jarring impact zeroed his focus back into full and there he spied a blunder of the worst kind. Against all odds, the sealed letter he had hidden in his wrist holster (normally reserved for his wand or a knife) beneath the sleeve of his summer blazer became dislodged. The Doctor paled, blinking the stars out of his eyes, just in time to catch Murphy's second plot twist: a swallow-tailed bird, namely the swallow-tailed kite, appeared from nowhere to snatch away his precious carte blanche authorization to kick the ever living...

SONUVAWHORE! My burn-em-all-and-let-Chaos-sort-em-out ticket's getting away, Negi broke out of his disbelieving fugue. Eva, away I must go! Just do what you do best, understood?

Muttering half an apology aloud to Kagurazaka, who was still in the middle of her darkly humorous episode, he peeled the panicky girl off of him and made to pursue, post-haste.

What I do best? queried the puss in boots with a curtly raised eyebrow.

Be. The STAR. OF. ATTENTION!

Any snappy parting shot he might have offered to explain on his departure was drowned out by the resounding almighty cry of Evangeline Athanasia KITTY MacDowell.

"THAT'S IT! OO LA~ LA~! _C'EST TRES MAGNIFIQUE_!"

Her retinue of the finest felines took great preventative measures to defeat any and all amphibious comers who might dare to steal her spotlight. Hence, poor Asuna Kagurazaka, blinkered and feeling awkward, did not stand a snowball's chance in hell of dodging the Girl Queen of Cats' index finger of "Majestic _Fashionista _A-U-T-H-O-R-I-T-Y!", and where her fingers pointed, naturally did all eyes follow. The auburn-haired girl, barely, had enough time to be burdened with even greater bewilderment before...

W, Wha?"

"DAR~lings, in my marvelous name, I command you thus: FETCH ME that ragamuffin's measurements ~ AT ONCE!"

So did The Doctor fain leave the wild company of his students, as they descended into a most sporting endeavor of "Hey! Let's play dress up with Kagurazaka Asuna-san~!". The latter's tortured, indignant cries nipped at his heels all the way out, and through several train cars later, like a persistent venereal disease. He offered a small prayer in gentile pejorative, before absolving himself guilt free of the unpleasant business. After all, it was in no way his fault that Evangeline, his darling puss in boots, happened to choose cowbell topped girl as her chew toy of the hour.

If Kagurazaka wanted to file a complaint...erm, perhaps, he was getting a little ahead of himself there.

Stakes, can you intercept? Negi popped the obvious question, as he threaded his way through successive train cars with the guile befitting a professional freerunning stunt man.

Whether it was a way too fetching raven-haired broad (with GLASSES and a really NAUGH~TY expression!) to be _just _a train attendant pushing a lunch cart, impertinent doors trying to deny him passage, and that plain but kinda cute blondie, none could impede his fever pitched tempo. And, good heavens, was that almost a run-on sentence?

"Right away, My Master~!" Mammon of Greed answered first, ever eager to please and embezzle all the honors for herself.

But wherever she went, it was certain her elder sister was not far behind, and Leviathan of Envy just so happened to be an expert in pointing out the folly of others.

"Stupid Monmon, don't get too ahead of yourself now~, hmph!"

"For the self-proclaimed brightest and fastest amongst us, Sisters, you can be really dim-witted and slow, Stu~pid."

He could practically feel the sultry heat of Mammon's leer permeate through the air, like a bad sunburn. It was usually the last word before something awful tended to happen to her elder sister.

"I might be self-styled, but I am damn good at selling myself, you have to credit me that much, dearest big sister. Besides, it's better to be assumed - than to be confirmed without question that you ARE: a _use~less_, fil-"

"_Eeeeeeekkkk_! M-A-M-M-O-N!"

Negi bit back a sigh, as he narrowly slipped through another closing door.

Girls, must I remind you that my _**stress **_card is getting away?

"Ah! My deepest apologies, My Mas~ter! Our Levia-_nee_san can be such a-"

"_Uuuuuu_, S-T-U-P-I-D~! I said, it's not NE-CESS-ARY. Just LOOK!"

"Tsk, you sore loser. When will you ever - OHMIGOSH, M-my M-Mas-ter, wai-"

Suffice to say, the Stakes' warning came a touch late, as the much exasperated boy genius slipped through another pressurizing door to come within a hairsbreadth of flashing silver. It was by the feat of supreme self-discipline did Negi resist the bowel inducing urge to squeal like a little girly man after having almost bungling head first into an unwanted nose job. Instead, he fell back on a time honored tradition: The Doctor Pose #25 "Are you happy to see me, or is that a sword tucked away in your lingerie?"

"Why _hullo _there," the lenses of his A.R. glasses glinted eerily, like a pair operating table flood lamps. "Good grief, should I be surprised to find you here, Sakurazaki Setsuna-san?"

For her part, the loyal bodyguard of the House of Konoe held her ground well, holding back a shiver of a flinch for all of three heartbeats, before evading his gaze to catch the falling envelope out of the air.

"That's my line, _Mister _Negi Springfield. Less than three hours into your mission and I already find you losing precious documents? If you were a courier of Our noble House, I'd demand you be flogged for your incompetence."

On the floor, two neatly severed slips of paper shaped roughly in the form of a swallow-tailed bird left little doubts as to whose handiwork had done the deed, considering that the perpetrator still carried her blade with her, stored in that long duffel case slung on one shoulder.

"Flogging?" The Doctor raised a brow, a wicked smile peeling away at his cool composure. "I had no idea you were into sadomasochism, Saku-ra~zaki-kun~! ...I might have to reevaluate my opinion of you just, a little. _Iiihihihihihihi_!"

Setsuna flushed. "Wh, wh, what kind of response is that? Eeehhhh! Here, take it and be gone from my sight."

"Ohhh, why the rush?" just as he had predicted, Negi accepted her hand, thrust roughly at him, with great relish.

"_Huueeeeh_! L, le, let go of me!"

"It is not as if we have determined **who **the culprit is for this crime yet, have we?"

"Y, you scoundrel! How dare you accuse-"

"I am not accusing you, my dear, but if you want to vol~unteer... Mmm~, there are some _**in**_teresting interrogation techniques I have been meaning try..."

"Cut it out. Wh, what would I have to do with this? It was I who intercepted this spirit in the first place! Now, release me!"

"True, you are innocent until proven guilty, and besides, you do not strike me as the type cunning enough to use diversionary tactics, much less frogs, to raise some good ol' fashioned pandemonium. Maybe the Kyoto rebels do have some class, after all?"

"Y, you... Bastard!"

"_Iiihihihihi_. You should see how red your face is, right now, Sakurazaki-kun! I never knew there was such a feminine side to you."

"Spring-FIELD, **you**...! I will. DEFEND. myself. Release me this instant!"

"With one hand trapped in my grasp, and in these close quarters? **Ha**. A bold boast, Sakurazaki, but an _empty _threat. Surely, a learned practitioner of the sword such as your ignorant self would understand the concept of distance?"

"I know of more than just the path of the sword!"

"Well~ now, I would hope so. You are a growing young girl, after all, but could I take a rain check on this impetuous proposal today, and we can meet up again, in say, ten years time for a _private _rendezvous?"

"Y, you... You FILTH. ...Unhand me now, or else-"

"Or you will what? Prove your guilt?" Negi deadpanned mercilessly. "_Pu ku ku ku_!"

Setsuna grimaced, a flash of outrage glinting in her sharp eyes.

"Besides, Set~su~na-kun, now that I have tested you like so, ohohohoho, have need you will, methinks, of more than _just _an overgrown razor blade to keep **me **at bay in Kyoto."

And then, a curious number of unfortunate happenings occurred that would become the life changing event forever seared into Setsuna Sakurazaki's sharp recollection. It happened suddenly, not unlike love at first sight, except this was not anything so gentle. Springfield pulled, lifting her up by their intertwined hands, and threw her gobsmacked self clean across the cramped transfer compartment. Much to her abject infuriation, it shamed Setsuna to admit that the rogue had taken her by complete surprise again, for she never expected him to follow through on his veiled threats with real violence.

...and a small part of the raven-haired girl could not help but be thrilled and hurt all at once, as the jarring impact sparked a surge of adrenaline in wild anticipation for martial combat. The fire in her blood had been waiting a long time for this moment, but the fleeting sliver of rationale in her mind could stem its disappointment, hardly. The knave, Springfield, had always surprised her with his elegance, so for him to resort to such crude methods was...unlike him. Out of character...

It was gut check, just enough to pull her back, and the more Setsuna thought about the turn of events, the clearer it became something very wrong was afoot. Replaying those circumstances over again, in the instant of infinity afforded by the heat of battle, she realized that the boy magister should not have been able to overpower her, much less throw her out like yesterday's garbage. Setsuna had not been joking when she proclaimed she knew more than just the path of the sword. Bodyguards like her were taught unarmed techniques as well.

Simple hand and arm manipulation maneuvers, these were drilled into prospective initiates with meticulous diligence, bordering sadism at the Shinmeiryuu dojo, so she could react and follow through with little more than a lazy thought. Indeed, with her free hand alone, Setsuna could have turned the situation around in her favor. Hell, she had vouched as much to Springfield, banking on the fact he was so full of himself to exercise any caution at all, and open his guard even more to a counterattack.

The catch was that her arm had not responded, when she willed it to act out her defiance. Instead, it hung loosely at her side, as if paralyzed.

Dwelling deeper into the moment still, the bodyguard chanced upon a more disturbing development. Like the ephemeral kiss of a flower petal, something had coiled itself around her supple wrist, slender fingers marrying themselves to flesh. It felt like her own body did not belong to her anymore, and that she was but a mere observer, as more hands made themselves at home on her shoulders and waist, helping Springfield to carry out his machinations.

Now, laying prostrate on her side, Setsuna pierced the veil of ignorance at long last and bore witness to the horrible truth. A storm of glittering butterflies danced about the smiling madman, bathing him in a veritable halo of gold, as a pair of demons with the faces of angels coalesced about his shoulders like wings. Frighteningly beautiful creatures, they leered out at her, preening themselves beside their supernatural master, ready to do his bidding at the slightest command.

"_Iihihihihi_, are your eyes open yet, Sakurazaki Setsuna-san?" snickered Negi Springfield, leaning back casually as he reached up, with hands clad in sneering white, to adjust his glasses. "Or are you still dreaming, hm~?"

Gloves? Since when did he...? No, it does not matter. What matter is...!

Alas, Setsuna never had the chance to vent her indignant outrage at the mad magister's gross behavior, with some well-deserved violence of her own. The intense focus granted by the surge of fury had worn off, allowing the bodyguard girl to grasp the full picture at last. Reflected in the mirror finish of Negi Springfield's glasses was a horrific sight to behold: Setsuna Sakurazaki was a young woman on fire.

**Blue**.

"Eeeeyyyaaaghhh!" a crashing wave of searing agony, like the bites of a thousand fire ants squirming beneath her flesh, swept Setsuna away into the desperate sea of madness.

**Blue**. It was blue everywhere: on her hair, on her clothes, on her skin, and in her eyes. **Blue**. **Blue**. She was even shedding molten tears of _**burning **_**blue**! Make it stop. Make it stop! It hurt. It hurt so much!

The cabin fell deathly quiet into a void of darkness and blue. The grim silence punctuated by her choked breaths. The last death throes of a condemned beast, writhing, _**dying**_, slowly...painfully, as the wind howled, scattering embers of _**azure **_everywhere.

"_Kihihihihihi_, _**HIYA**_~_hahahahha_! This is hi~LAR~ious!" cackled a cruel, yet beautiful voice. "Hey, hey, _Onee_-sama, are you getting all this on the memory gem?"

W, why?

"Shut up, stupid Monmon," answered a like-minded devil, who happened to be just as mean and gorgeous as the first, "you're ruining the movie."

How could they be so cruel, when it hurt so much?

"Goodness, what a howling banshee she is," scoffed another voice, masculine, his silhouette standing out against the dancing backdrop of blue. "Blew out all the windows and burned the cabin down too that she did. No wonder they sealed away her - _**abominable **_side for so long (although I admit I am amazed my glasses somehow managed to escape the holocaust)."

"_Kihihihihihi_! Poor, miserable thing. I wonder if she was hated because she couldn't even control her own voice?"

"Of course, she was~, just like a **certain **loudmouth, I know."

"_Kyahahahha_! Oh, why don't you just admit you're jea~lous that I always got all of the atten~tion, hmm, _O-N-E-E_-sa~ma? _Kihihihi_. C'mon! Just. Admit it already, you rotten, green-eyed snake!"

"_KKKeeeeeeeeee_! **M-A-M-M-O-N**... YOU~uuuuuuuu little...!"

The flickering shadows danced, and the wind howled louder at the death knell of shattering glass. They were gone and that left one alone.

"Keep watch over my wards, kindly if you would, you two rascals. I am a doctor, not an actor, and I care not for an audience to witness this delicate operation," tut-tuted the silhouette of a man, well, to be precise, not quite a man but not quite a boy either.

He drew nearer, slipping through the muggy haze of azure, like a ghost. Two glowing orbs, white hot as the sun, bore into her eyes, capturing them. She could not look away, even if it was her desire.

"Now then, alone at last, are we not? _Fu_. Well, feeling a little more lucid I hope? The pain should be subsiding about now, according to my readings. It seemed your circuits for (I believe the local medical arcano terminology being) _youki_ have been unused for so long that they became quite excited to have been activated at long last. ...Whoever thought it was a good idea to suppress your extranormal heritage needs to be dragged out into the street and shot, for the record. You can blame them for having your clothes and affectations reduced to scraps and ash, by the way."

The twin orbs directed their attention anew, focusing that beam of light at her outstretched. Something - familiar - was clutched between those white knuckled fingers, a lacquered sheathe, its hilt ablaze with a molten symbol. No. It was a word.

"Nevertheless, I am most relieved that my theory proved correct," spoke the dark shadow with a clinical snort. "As per expectation, you were the appropriate executor to inherit this _Demon Blade_, one of the mad swordsmith Muramasa's finest cursed blades, forged with the flames of the Souls' wrath, suffering, and fathomless regret, whom _faltered _in life... Or so went the sales pitch I received from those _foxes_."

Why? Why won't he be silent? That word, it felt important to her. What did it say? ...What did it mean?

"_Ai_, is it now? Bah. Thank heavens, my palms told me that those terrifyingly voluptuous fox wenches were up to no good. Calling me the Earl of Blue Knights and what other nonsense! A simple request? My foot. I could have been killed, if I had touched it! ...Although I have to wonder why a man famous for making murderous blades that cannot be sheathed once drawn, until they have been sated with blood anyhow, would name one of his creations, '_Love_'?"

And then, as if it had been an eternity, she found her voice at long last, weathered and rusty:

"L, love...?"

The two white orbs rounded on her, twitching his rough intangible shape aside, like a bird of prey. Studying, watching, anticipating, as if surprised she were still...alive(?). ...Or was she dead?

"Ah! But where are my manners?" a gleaming eerie U-shaped line of white split across its face. "Tsk, tsk. My, my, what a fascinating little doll you are! I always wondered why your skin was so fair and untouched... Ah, those silken locks like virgin snow...! And those _eyes _of crimson, red like the fire in my veins, _pu ku ku ku ku_..."

Excited, the silhouette turned its light on her burned knuckle clenched hand again. The smell... Awful. Noxious. Burned. Flesh. Blood.

"Now. THIS. my dear. is practical, and something no self-respecting woman should be without: a **dagger**. I considered stiletto hairpins, similar to lacquered chopsticks actually, before this blade happened into my possession... But due to your OB-vious lack of skill and subtlety, I thought a more conventional approach was warranted, so it was quite a stroke of luck that the servants of Inari showed up on my doorstep, no? _Iihihihihih_! Compact, lightweight, deadly, and best of all, fashionable; I can recommend you to a stellar hairstylist, a true fashionista, if you like, since I do believe."

She was numb, so cold and numb. Could not feel anything? Who had done this to her? Was it him? ...Yes. YES. It must be him. So cruel. So evil! That horrible gleaming smile!

"Y...you, horri-ble... Wh, what h, have you... D-one to... Me?"

His smiled down turned into a frown.

"Tsk. I warned you, I warned you. I warned YOU. So. MUCH! ...And now, it's come to this... THIS, you ignorant little wretch! Welcome... Welcome to My World, _**girl**_; 'tis a mad world for certain, but a majestically insane one at that too. Now that I have brought you over the threshold, I will not permit you to leave until you have seen all the beautiful horrors we have to offer!"

But as quickly as his mood turned to displeasure, the silhouette's humor swung back, like a pendulum, to the opposite extreme.

"Ah, and before I forget, try not to behave for a little bit, will you not? I imagine, your sisters are already on their way to raid the luggage compartment for your change of clothes. Don't think too badly of them, please. They might be mean spirited, but can you blame them? They were born from demons, for grief's sake! Mischief and mayhem is all but born into their blood, and unlike some individuals, they see no need to deny their own nature."

White hands that entertained no protest darted out of the gloom, arresting her.

"Now, my dear, be good. I am about to execute a minor formality in - _adopting _you as my ward. There is a lot more to it, of course, but this little ceremony should be enough to suffice for now. Besides, it will grant you a number of benefits, lucrative and practical, such as never having to bother with troublesome hair dyes and contact lenses ever again. A little _Glamour _goes a long way, yes? _Ku ku ku ku_! Verily, they are privileges you will enjoy so long as you are under my care, see?"

She should struggle, but she could not; he was too close, and she was much too inviting to resist.

"Let us begin the operation!"

And lo, the mad thing that was neither beast nor man stole the deathly rosebud lips of Love, and all became naught but darkness.

What a devilish louse. It was her first kiss, too.

* * *

The Wheel of Fate is turning...

* * *

Production Notes:

Oh. MY. GOD. What an epic slog this was... I confess shamelessly that I was cutting some mad corners right to the end there, but I just wanted this slothful demon done and exorcised from my system.

My gosh, how long has it been? TWO MONTHS?

...I'm so sorry, guys. Real life interrupted. Hard core. But, I swear, I'm making a comeback slowly but surely.

As for this chapter, yeah, I had a lot bigger plans for it, but I had to settle for much less. It's already more than long enough, and I think the developments here are worth enough food for thought in the meantime. Some folks, last I heard, were wondering when some love was gonna get spread around these parts.

Well, you got your wish, I think. Can't say Setsuna's gonna be as happy once she's got all her dogs barking properly again, but that's gonna be delicious dramedy, no? Blood thirsty, cursed weapons are so wonderful, aren't they?

Anyhow, I want to thank you all for tuning, and to the reviewers from our last gig, don't sweat; I'm working on a backlog breaker to clear out all of your questions and thoughts. Hope to see you all again in the next moon or so.

Peace.


End file.
